Dashing Through the Mall
by DaSwampRat'sCherie
Summary: Since Rogue and Remy's unexpected encounter at the mall while Christmas shopping, their two paths begin to intertwine-much to Remy's delight and Rogue's dismay. Will she one day change her mind about the Cajun? Or will he continue to irritate her to no end? ::Now in-progress; no longer complete::
1. Chapter 1

It's Christmas Eve, so obviously that entailed the uploading of a Christmas story from me:) The concept was originally inspired by Black Friday, but I didn't think of it until several days after and decided to save it for Christmas instead:) I hope you all enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: Yes, as a matter of fact, I do own- *Wade clasps hand over writer's mouth and whispers, "Shh! You might give away Luella!"* Right, um, I don't own any of these characters or anything. Tis purely for fun because I own nothing. ::cough::cough::

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Rogue was grumpily stomping through the halls (because how else would the Rogue get from point "A" to point "B"?) when suddenly a petite dark-haired woman dropped through the ceiling and landed directly in her path.

"Kitty!" She growled in irritation. "Gawd, I told ya'! Ya' can't _do_ that!"

The addressed mutant paid the goth no mind, instead offering a lame shrug before hurriedly launching into her gushing speech.

"So, like, Christmas is _just_ around the corner, and I was thinking we should _totally_ go Christmas shopping!"

In a moment of pure horror, Rogue's blood ran cold. She forgot her previous annoyance; heck, she forgot to _breathe_. Christmas shopping. With _Kitty_.

_God, please start the apocalypse. Fire and brimstone are good, it's December and we could all use the extra heat anyway! Anything to get me out of this!_ Rogue thought desperately, her mortification evident by her contorted face and wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

"Um, actually, Ah'm kinda' busy. Logan asked me to-"

"Oh, I know! I told Logan and he said you could, like, just have your session later!" Kitty fired excitedly, her bubbly glee pouring out of her by her bouncing feet and beaming face.

_He did, _did _he? That's it. I'm going to kill the old man. If it's even possible to kill the idiot. Damn. He's survived how many battles? Maybe I can't murder him-but I can sure as hell make his life miserable. Oh yes. He'll soon wish I _could_ kill him. _A subconscious diabolical grin spread slowly across the Southerner's features as she thought of all of the devious plots to to destroy her mentor's life.

The younger of the two was too preoccupied by her exuberance to notice her growingly-terrifying teammate, and absently clasped her hands over her chest. "I heard you saying that you, like, didn't have presents for anyone, and I thought who better to help you buy things than me?"

_Epic action music had been playing, Rogue's badassery more obvious than ever as she dutifully strode away from the burning chaos behind her, Logan's barely-breathing-body in the ruins-_and then suddenly Kitty's words sucked her back to the boring (and, incidentally, ghastly), reality. The music cut, the flames died, and the Southerner was simply standing awkwardly in a virtually empty hallway. She stared at the other girl before her for several moments, her face now blank in surprise before she blurted out.

"What?"

Kitty shifted her weight and tilted her head with a slight roll of her eyes in amused irritation. (Someone as perky as she could never achieve full irritation). "You silly goose, I was saying that, like, I heard you say you had some Christmas shopping to do and that I would, like, totally _love_ to help you!"

Rogue stared, the bile rising in her throat and the familiar feeling of the color draining from her already too-pale face made its usual appearance as she desperately thought for an excuse to escape what would be certain doom.

"Ah-um. Got...stuff. Yeah. Ah already got lots of stuff for people." _And if by 'lots of stuff' I mean a droopy spider plant named "Eliot" for Storm and a half a bottle of oil for Logan's motorcycle, then I guess I'm not lying. Oh gawd, why is she looking at me like that? She hasn't figured me out, has she? You're not all that eloquent. _She reminded herself, remembering her spluttering from mere moments ago.

"Did you, like, already get _me _something?" Kitty asked hopefully.

"Um-"

"Because if you didn't, you can, like, buy me something I pick out!" She suggested earnestly.

"Uh-" The alarms were blaring in her head-how in the _hell_ could she get out of this?

"Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?" Oh no. Not the puppy dog eyes. Kitty knew even _Rogue _couldn't resist her big, blue, saucer shaped puppy dog eyes! _Crapcrap_crap_! Don't say 'yes'. Don't you _dare_ say 'yes'._ But even as Rogue tried to stop her lips from forming the word, her tongue and muscles refused to comply and a slow and reluctant,

"Yyyeeeesss," slipped out. _NO! I MEANT TO SAY NO! WHY? WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?! _Rogue cursed her body for acting against her. Maybe there was a logical reason! Maybe-Maybe Mesmero was controlling her again! Yes, that must be it. _Anything_ was better than her own body rebelling and forcing her to agree to going with Kitty when _Christmas shopping_.

Before she could take the treacherous word back, the Illinois-born girl began jumping up and down and clapping her hands (_I swear this girl's proof freakin' fairies exist_).

"Yay, yay, yay! I was so worried you, like, wouldn't say yes! I'm so excited! Let me just, like, get my money!" She squealed, skipping (dear God, yes, _skipping_) away in the direction of her room.

Rogue stood rooted to the spot for several minutes in what can only be described as a catatonic state. Dear lord, she had just signed her own execution papers! This was the end. Truly. She had just agreed to go! Why?! Resigning herself to her unlucky fate (_yep. The universe hated her._) the Southerner sighed, sluggishly dragging her feet towards her room. She should, at least, take some money along. If she had to endure her own personal hell, then at least she could maybe get something out of it. Ugh.

Rogue took comfort in the fact she was at least able to drive. _Though maybe if I let Kitty drive we would have died in a fiery car crash and I would have been spared this. _This_ of all things._

The large structure before her had never looked so imposing-it's numerous floors and heavy bricks seemed to grin menacingly down at her from all sides, and she hadn't even parked the car yet. When the vehicle was finally sitting happily in a space, Rogue innocently dug through her purse, pretending to look for something in a last attempt at stalling her impending death.

Kitty must have been hanging around Jean too much for she had clearly picked up mind-reading _somewhere_. She rolled her eyes and impatiently said, "I'm like, not _totally_ stupid. I know what you're doing. C'mon, let's go!" The semi-annoyed tone was instantly replaced by a perky gush.

The goth sighed and reluctantly left the sanctuary that the jeep allotted, dread building its little cabin and cozy fire as it made itself at home in the pit of her stomach. Her footsteps and heartbeat echoed as she slowly and warily advanced the formidable building. The very walls seemed to resound with an evil laugh as she stepped through the glass doors. _Please let the Brotherhood be here so I can stop them. _Anything _but this._

Kitty absently latched herself onto Rogue's arm, but at an unrepentingly terrifying glare, she wisely removed herself with haste and settled for walking side by side. Without even looking at the sign, the tiny brunette blindly walked into the first store on the right-a small dental business.

_Why did I do this to myself? _Were Rogue's final thoughts before she followed.

_**XxXxX**_

Remy had been casually minding his own business in his apartment (the one he shared with Pyro, of all people. The one good thing about working for ol' Bucket-head was his friendships with John and Piotr. Piotr had moved in with the X-men; he never really belonged anywhere else in the first place.); he was playing a lively game of solitaire (made 'lively' by his random igniting of the cards. He always lost that way, but the flaming cards provided more amusement anyway) when suddenly St. John burst through the door. (God forbid he ever open it with a normal amount of strength.)

"'Ey, if it ain't ol' Remy!" He greeted boisterously, his arms waving around extravagantly as if he hadn't seen the Cajun in months, if not years.

The seated man rolled his eyes as he spared half of a glance towards his insane roommate. "I live here." He pointed out. This was basically how it always went, but John paid no mind to his half-amused, half-annoyed friend.

"I had the greatest idea, I did!" Remy offered more of his attention at this revelation, absently quirking his eyebrows as he returned his gaze to the singed (or incinerated) cards on the table.

"Oh? And dat would be?" He questioned with disinterest.

"We should go Christmas shopping!"

"For who? Da only people I know are you an' Pete. An' my _Tante_. I t'ink she would beat me if I forgot her present." The Southerner added as an afterthought, a slightly terrified glint settling in his eye at the prospect.

"Oh come now! Don't play coy with ol' St. John. I know ya' got ya' sights set on that sheila with the X-geeks, mate." The Aussie replied as if chastising a young child.

Remy rolled his eyes and flatly stated, "I don't know what da hell ya' be talkin' 'bout"; unfortunately he couldn't help the light blush that tinged his cheeks.

"DeNial ain't just a river in Africa, ol' boy." Then, with a devilish grin, he began chanting in a sing-song voice, "Re-my's in luu-urve! Re-my's in luu-urve!"

"Shut up," the subject of the jingle growled.

"Oo, sensitive he is!" St. John had a gleam in his eye as he cackled maniacally and strode towards the couch where Remy sat now discreetly fuming.

"C'mon, ol' boy!" He reached down a hand and hauled the seated Cajun to his feet. "Let's go to the mall an' find that sheila o' yours somethin' she can't live without!"

"John, I don't-" But his half-hearted protests were either simply not heard, or, more likely, heard and promptly ignored.

It took no time at all to reach Pyro's car, and Remy barely had time to catch his breath as the Aussie roughly shoved him into the passenger seat and slammed the door in a hurry.

_**XxXxX**_

Rogue had survived the first five shops-_somehow_-and was resignedly trailing behind Kitty as she darted into the next store. At leas this one was one they would potentially buy something in, unlike the previous five. (_Who knew they had a store in the mall dedicated purely to bubble wrap. Just bubble wrap. That must take a _lot _of self-control to work there.)_

"Oo!" Kitty squealed, darting forward at something she had evidently spotted before even fully passing over the threshold. "Look at this _totally _adorable sweater!"

Rogue gaped at it, trying her hardest to suppress her gag reflex that demanded she vomit as soon as possible. But-_dear god, it's pink and yellow paisley. How in the hell is that in fashion?_

"Can't you, like, see Mr. Logan wearing this?" She gasped as she leaped (_like a gazelle_) over to another display, this one of camouflage pants. Now, Logan wasn't necessarily opposed to camouflage, but it didn't exactly seem like something he would lounge around in either.

_Six. Six stores. Six out of dozens-hundreds! I have to get out of here!_ Rogue panicked, thinking perhaps she could set off the fire-alarm, but at last decided against it. She was the _Rogue_, look at all she had survived! Surely one day of shopping with Kitty wouldn't be the death of her, would it?

_**XxXxX**_

Remy was trudging behind St. John. It wasn't that he minded shopping with John, he really didn't-it got him out, but he couldn't help but think of how much he'd rather be shopping with _someone else._

"Quit poutin', ol' boy!" The Aussie chastised, before he stopped, his eyes lighting up at the Christmas display in one of the shop windows. "Oo, Santa baby won't be droppin' off no gifts in _that _house!" He giggled madly, pointing his finger in a childish manner at the cardboard fireplace that was complete with cozy flames lapping at the hearth.

Remy rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stalked off the other direction.

"Whatcha' broodin' about, Remy?" John asked once he caught up with his Cajun companion.

"I ain't 'brooding'," he muttered grumpily. _And I don't mean to be picky, but you ain't who I'd really like to see right now. Logan had to change the security system. Nothing a master thief like me can't get passed, but it still puts a hitch in my plans. I wasn't expecting it last time and almost got caught because of it. Because of _her_._

"Sure you are,'' Pyro slapped his hand on the other's back. "But that's okay; ol' John will help you get over your Christmas blues."

"I ain't got 'Christmas blues' either." He grumbled, hunching his shoulders and allowing his lower lip to protrude slightly farther than normal.

"Sure, an' I ain't a pyromaniac!" John laughed hysterically, ignoring the confused (and worried) glances he was receiving. Once he calmed down enough, he paused and stated in a voice far too serious. "Ya' know, mate? That tasted bad jus' sayin' it."

The Cajun rolled his eyes. "Let's jus' get dis stupid-" He froze when he heard a sweet, delicate voice gently lap against his ears in soothing tones.

"Gawd, Kitty, Ah said _no_ already! Ah ain't wearin' that god-awful pink-_thing_!"

"What's the matter, mate?" John asked, seeing a gleefully devious grin slowly spread across his friend's face.

"Uh, Remy? You're givin' me the heebie-jeebies. What's goin' on?" Normally, Remy would have derived some sick pleasure from the level of fear in the Aussie's voice, but he was far too focused on the source to even notice his friend's trembling.

"Jus' follow me." The addressed replied in an eerily low and and diabolical voice, one that matched the deranged smile he directed to John only too well.

"Uh, sure, mate. Where are we goin'?" He replied uncertainly.

Rather than answering verbally, Remy only permitted his grin to stretch even further across his face, the terrifying glint spanning up to his eyes.

_**XxXxX**_

_This is it. I'm finally going to jail. I can see the headlines now: "Girl Brutally Strangles Friend with Victims's own Pink Scarf". Yes, that's how it will go. At least I'll get some amount of infamy._ Rogue thought dryly as she pushed away another _hideous_ selection that Kitty had vigorously waved in front of her face. _I'm not freakin' blind. And even if I were, I'm sure I could still see that deplorable pattern._

"Roo-oogue!" Kitty whined, having the audacity to even stomp her foot dramatically. "Why aren't you buying anything?"

"I'm too busy plotting your gruesome and untimely demise," is what she wanted to say, instead she opted for, "I just haven't seen anything yet."

The brunette sighed looking uncharacteristically forlorn before she spotted something else (_surely awful_) and fluttered over, gushing shrilly and not even noticing the looks she was attracting.

_Kill me. Just kill me now. Make it quick, if you can, but .now._ She pleaded softly inside her head. A cold chill ran through her and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Under normal circumstances, she would have dreaded that sensation; however, _today_ she welcomed it-it might be her chance to get out of shopping. Casually, oh so _casually_, she glanced around.

A couple, the guy looking almost as bored and mortified as she herself. A screeching child _(Gawd, this trip is so horrible I didn't even notice her_) clawing at her mother's knees. A man by the lingerie obscuring himself by the use of a newspaper. An elderly lady at the end of the checkout line, bickering about some stupid coupon. A gentleman by the entrance with an open umbrella concealing his face. A group of teenage girls who were at least as irritating as Kitty if not worse.

_Hmm, that's- _her train of thought was interrupted by a shriek near Newspaper-guy, and a woman's piercing tantrum could be audibly heard as she thwacked the man repeatedly with her purse,

"You pervert! Get out of here! Spying on women's clothing like that! I bet you do this all day, don't you?!"

Rogue paid little mind to the scene, barely even registering that the swish of the recipient's trench coat _should _have been familiar as he darted into another aisle. Nor did she notice that Umbrella-dude was shuffling past her, careful to keep the canopy angled parallel to his face as he headed towards Newspaper-guy.

_Something _had caused her 'spidey-sense' to tingle, but _what_? Well, nothing seemed out of the ordinary for freaky mall people, so, sighing with despair that she had no way of escape, she dragged her feet closer to Kitty.

"Did you, like, see that freaky guy in the lingerie? Who does that anyway?" Kitty questioned absently, her distaste evident by the revolted grimace on her face.

"He's a _mall person_, Kit, what do you expect?" Rogue retorted irately.

"Hey, that's, like, totally not fair!" The younger pouted.

The Southerner rolled her eyes and decided to appease the girl by gesturing lamely to some shirt.

"Oo, you're right! I love it!"

The two moved (one with reluctance and the other with excitement) from store to store in search of the 'perfect gift'. The only relief Rogue found was a Dunkin' Donuts nestled beautifully in between two clothing stores, and Kitty agreed they could pick up a coffee.

"So," Kitty began conversationally. _Gawd, the girl never __**shuts up**__. _"I know you'll get things for most of us at the mansion, but, like, what about that sexy Gambit guy?"

A spray of steaming, dark liquid spewed from Rogue's mouth, attracting both confused and distasteful stares.

"_What_?!" She gasped after her oh, so eloquent display of gagging and choking.

"You know, that hot, Cajun, card-throwing guy," the petite brunette continued as if nothing had happened.

"Um, Oh. Right. _That _guy." The southerner shrugged in what she hoped was nonchalance. "Ah _think_ Ah know who ya' mean. Why would Ah get _him_ somethin'?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rogue! It's me! Do you, like, think I'm totally blind?" Kitty asked incredulously with a light smack on the other girl's shoulder. "I mean, I've obviously seen that card you, like, use as a bookmark."

"What card?" _Yes. Playing dumb was the only option. Really dumb. Like a blonde dropped at birth. Good plan. _"Ah don't really know what exactly you're referrin' to."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "You know, the _queen of hearts_."

Rogue cocked her head and actually rubbed her chin in contemplation. Then, a look of realization was allowed to don her face. "Oh, riiight! _That _card. Ah don't really think he gave it to me, Ah jus' picked it up somewhere." _Well, I didn't _exactly _lie. I said I "don't really think". The "really" cancels out the whole statement. And I did pick it up. From the floor when I dropped it in excitement. Um, not excitement. Fear. Fear that it would explode even hours after he gave it to me. Right. Fear._

Her friend gave her "that" look. "Then how come you, like, totally freaked when you couldn't find it that one time?"

"Um-'' _C'mon, girl, think!_ "Because I was concerned that it would give someone else a paper cut. I had a nasty scratch for three weeks." _Right. She'll totally belive that. Who wouldn't?_

"Yeah, whatever. But you should, like, definitely buy him something!" She suggested eagerly.

"What the hell would Ah buy him?" Rogue asked blankly. _No! No, you were supposed to ask _why _you would buy him something, not _what _you would get him! Drat._

Apparently Kitty noticed her slip too. "So you're, like, not denying you should buy him something?"

"What? No! Don't be ridiculous!" _Smooth, real smooth. _She looked around in desperate hope that something would appear to take her away from this. _Hmm, strange. Newspaper-guy and Umbrella-dude are back. I swear they were in the last store too._

Had the girl looked a second longer, she would have noticed the casual lowering of the periodical and the narrowed red eyes peering _casually _over the top. Followed by the _nonchalant _shifting of the umbrella so the holder could gaze at her.

_**XxXxX**_

"Remy, mate, what's the point o' all o' this is ya' ain't even goin' to _talk _to the sheila?" St. John asked his friend after carefully angling the umbrella to its former position.

"I'm jus' bidin' my time an' waitin' for da right moment,'' the Cajun replied, never taking his intense stare away from the discussed 'sheila'.

"Ya' do realize ya' actin' creep, eh, ol' boy?" The Aussie pointed out.

"Am not." He grumbled, his mouth turning down into a frown but his eyes remaining steadily (and stalkerishly) focused on his target.

"Are too."

"Am not.'

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"I _am not_!" Remy snapped, jerking his head to his friend with eerie speed.

"Fine. Ya' ain't," John shrugged, as if the whole matter was an everyday occurrence.

Gambit stared at his roommate for several long moments before returning his gaze to the Southern girl.

"Damn, I lost her!" He exclaimed, realizing her tantalizing auburn tresses were nowhere in sight.

"Don't worry, mate, we'll find her." John assured with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

_**XxXxX**_

Finally, after close to three hours of _discreetly _trailing the two X-girls, Remy saw his chance to approach. Kitty was in a dressing room trying on what must have been _dozens_ of outfits, and Rogue was sitting in utter boredom on a bench just outside.

"I can go distract the other sheila!" John suggested earnestly, pointing immaturely at the dressing room's door.

"_Non_, da las' t'ing I need is gettin' kicked out 'cause o' _you _bein' accused o' bein' a pervert," Remy growled, only half-paying attention.

The pyromaniac pouted. "Fine. I don't s'pose my Wanda would appreciate that anyway..." He added as if the thought had just occurred to him.

The Cajun rolled his eyes and stated, "Jus' go entertain ya'self. But _don't_ burn anythin' down!" He warned when he saw a disturbingly familiar glint in his fellow mutant's eyes.

"Fine. But you're no fun, mate."

Remy ignored that last part, as he was getting into his "sexy, devil-may-care" mode (which, if we're being honest, is what he always is in no matter what).

"Why, _bonjour_, _chere_! Fancy meetin' you here!"

_**XxXxX**_

Rogue had been sitting idly on a bench, wondering what she had done to deserve such torture. At least she was permitted to wait outside, and was surprisingly even being spared a fashion show.

_I swear she's doing this all on purpose. Because I got her a crappy gift last year. How was __**I**_ _supposed to know N-SYNC was no longer the _popular _"boy band"? Geesh. It's not my fault these weirdo One Direction freaks popped in out of nowhere, _suddenly _taking away N-SYNC's fanbase. Or maybe it was because I burnt her One Direction poster after she-_

"Why, _bonjour_, _chere_! Fancy meetin' you here!" _That-that voice! Didn't it belong to-?!_

Slowly, casually, she turned around to find a tall, lean, gorgeou-, um, gargantuan, yes, that's the word she meant, figure looming over with a relaxed and amused smirk plastered onto his irritating face.

_Damn, how did the man become even more attractive? Wait, no! More ugly! _Ugly_. I thought he was an eye-sore _before_, but I guess I was wrong._

Rising to her feet, she defiantly placed her hands on her hips and, attaching a scowl onto her face, demanded, "What the hell do _you _want, swamp rat?"

"Da company o' a _belle femme_?" He offered innocently, his eyebrow quirking up as he spoke.

She, in turn, narrowed her eyes. "Kitty's in the dressing room."

"Ah, _ma cherie_, dis sense o' humor ya' got!" He chuckled, a gleeful glint sparkling in his eye and only adding to his attract-_ugliness._

"Ah ain't your _anythin'_, much less your '_cherie'_!" She countered, emphasizing the final word by mocking his accent.

"Sure ya' ain't. Not _yet _anyway." The first part was humoring her, the last part was purely annoying.

"Oh, jus' go away already." The Southern belle grumbled, indignantly crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ya' wound me, so!" The Cajun dramatically placed a hand over his heart and leaned his head back as if looking towards the heavens.

She rolled her eyes. "Ah'd sure like to-maybe fatally."

He pouted. "Don't gotta' be so cruel; Remy was jus' tryin' t' make some nice conversation."

"Yeah, well _Remy_ can go jump off a cliff as far as Ah'm concerned." She huffed.

"For you, _chere_, I'd do anythin'."

Her hand came flying up and hit her own forehead in frustration. _Gawd, which was worse, Kitty or him? I'll take the apocalypse. Fighting for survival at the end of the world sounds good. Especially if I have Daryl Dixon on my side. Hmm...Gambit could play Daryl. Wait-what? He looks nothing like Norman Reedus! No! You don't want Remy there during the apocalypse, you want the apocalypse to escape Remy! Wait...'Remy'? No! He's Gambit! You want the apocalypse to escape __**Gambit**__! Gah! This is all so confusing! What was I even thinking about?_

Rogue desperately hoped her traitorous thoughts weren't visible on her face, because right now she was thinking about what would happen if she and _Gambit_ were the last two people on Earth. Would they try to procreate, or-? _No. Bad. Very bad. Focus on getting away from him._

"So, _petite_, whatcha' want for Christmas?" Remy asked casually, leaning against a display in a very beauti-um, _irritating _manner.

"Your death papers?" She replied innocently, thankful that her brain was still able to come up with an insult even though it decided entertaining _stupid_ thoughts was a good idea.

"Ah, I was t'inking an official document o' another kind. Our marriage license perhaps?"

Because clearly choking on her coffee earlier was not close enough to a death experience, her very own spit decided to travel down the wrong tube and leave her spluttering and gasping for air. In an instant, Remy's relaxed and amused attitude dissipated only to be replaced by one of sincere concern.

"Ya' okay, _chere_?" He asked absently as he gently patted her back, applying just the right amount of force to clear her air passage without being rough.

When she could at last breathe like a normal person (_Thank God they were in the back of the store_), she glowered at him.

"Ah'm _fine_, bayou boy."

He studied her with worry for several more moments, as if ensuring for himself she was indeed 'fine', then nodded. "All right, _petite_. Jus' don't do dat again. Jus' 'bout gave dis ol' Cajun a heart attack t'inkin' ya' were hurt." In the next instant, his smarmy smirk was once again adorning his stupid face and he said cheekily, "Though if ya' kept dat up much longer I mighta' been able to offer mouth-t'-mouth."

_How the hell did he go from sincere concern to annoying flirtatiousness in less time than it takes to blink? _Rogue wondered incredulously. "Ah think Ah would take death over that, thank ya' very much."

"Why don't we try it and ya' can see which ya' t'ink ya'd like better?" He suggested, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, shut up." The girl grumbled.

Ignoring her annoyance on the outside (the inwardly loving ever second of it), Remy casually walked around the front of the bench and sat down, draping his arm on the back.

"Come sit down wit' me."

"Ah would rather eat a bag full o' hair." She told him flatly.

He grimaced. "Ya' got some weird eatin' habits."

Rolling her eyes, Rogue began to walk away.

"Hey now, don't be like dat," Remy pleaded catching up easily.

"Go away."

"Whatcha' doin' for Christmas?"

"Plannin' your murder."

"Ol' St. John's goin' t' Wanda's, and dat leaves dis poor Cajun all by his lonesome," he confessed quietly, convincingly putting on a show of being sorrowful at the prospect but trying to hide it.

Rogue bit her lip. Sure, she hated, loathed, _abhorred _the man, but no one should have to be alone on _Christmas_. The back of her mind warned her it was a trick, but she decided that she could ignore it-just this once.

Pretending he had no idea what effect his words and body language might have on her, he continued mournfully,

"I was gonna' go home for Christmas, but _mon pere _said I wasn't allowed back home no more." Well, that part was actually true; but he wasn't all that disappointed at the prospect. Henri said he, Mercy and _Tante _would be coming to visit soon (with some of his cousins maybe?) and they were the only people he cared to see anyway.

"So it's jus' gonna' be me. All alone. On Christmas..." The Cajun trailed off dejectedly, and even from the corner of his eye he could see the gears in Rogue's mind moving.

"Well, um...Ya' know, Christmas is gonna' be small this year at the Institute, with so many people goin' back home an' such, an'...Um. Ah'm sure one extra person wouldn't hurt." She offered, cursing the words even before they left her mouth but unable to stop them.

"Ya-Ya' askin' me t' spend Christmas wit' ya'?" He didn't have to pretend the excitement and glee, as the prospect brought that out naturally.

"No, not with _me_ exactly," She corrected hastily. "But, with the mansion. Ah mean, Ah might _be there_, but ya' ain't spendin' Christmas with _me_."

"Sure I ain't, I never t'ought otherwise," he affirmed, deciding that placating her would be the best way to do things. "What do ya' want for Christmas?"

"Nothin' really. You?" _Gawd, am I actually having a normal conversation with this freak?_

"A date with you," He told her, brushing his lips across her own so quickly her powers didn't even have time to register.

Rogue stopped walking, rooted to her spot and staring at him incredulously as her hand absently traveled to her lips.

Grinning at her wickedly, he glanced up and whispered, "Mistletoe." Offering a final cheeky wink, he dashed away and called,

"Merry Christmas, _petite_! See ya' den!"

Rogue stood in a catatonic state. _What the hell just happened? Maybe the apocalypse wasn't here yet, but the whole day is one giant sign that it's surely coming. Gawd, Christmas with Rem_-Gambit_. That ought to be interesting? Now...What should I get him?_

* * *

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this seasonal one-shot! It was quite fun to write. And yes, I realize neither Rogue nor Kitty is stupid enough to not realize Newspaper-guy and Umbrella-dude were following them, but for the sake of the story they were terribly oblivious:) (And no, I couldn't help bringing my beloved Daryl into it; thought I didn't plan on it even when I first mentioned the apocalypse.)

If you see any spelling/grammatical errors, feel free to let me know, though I've been over this three times and I think I actually got them all. Or if you have a better title in mind, I'm open to suggestions, though take no offense if I don't necessarily use it:)

Yes, even when it's Christmas I shan't spare you an impromptu poem: *ahem*

Tis Christmas time, all through the world  
And many took time to watch as this story unfurled  
How could the writer know your own personal thoughts  
Unless you left a nice review, and that means lots!

So there you go. Any feedback is appreciated, even just favorites and whatnot. I shall say good bye with a final: **MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


	2. Chapter 2

I know, I know, none of you were expecting a second chapter. Well, neither was I. Shout-out to JasmineBella for inspiring me to write it:)

It was pointed out in a review that Kitty is Jewish, and ergo probably wouldn't celebrate Christmas. Well, we didn't exactly see her celebrating it, just joining in the festivities and buying gifts. It's Kitty, and I can see her using even a holiday she doesn't partake in to have an excuse for shopping:)

I hope you enjoy this surprise addition:)

DISCLAIMER: I already have one on the first chapter, do I really need another one? *Wade bursts in through window* "It will throw them off the trail if you have multiple denials of ownership!" Right, so to throw off the Marvel-Elf conspiracy, No. I own nothing. Not a single document or anything. ::cough::

* * *

Rogue was fidgeting (very _not_ nervously) with her sleeves while she stood idly by the stairwell's banister. Re-_Gambit_ would be coming soon to spend Christmas with _them_ (obviously _not_ her). She had told the Professor, and internally hoped that he had taken it upon himself to spread the news; the idea of informing Logan that she had invited the moron who had kidnapped her before was not one she was inclined to think on if she could help it.

_Maybe I should have told him though. Then he could've say 'no' and I wouldn't be in this mess. Me and my stupid mouth. What an idiotic idea to invite __**him **__over. Honestly. I swear my body is rebellion against me. Like these stupid butterflies in my stomach-why in the hell would I feel nervous about this? ...Because I don't want a blood-bath. Yes, that's it. I'm afraid Logan will freak when he sees Re-__**Gambit**__, and, while I don't mind red on Christmas, I don't want that red to be __**blood**__. It might dampen my spirits. Besides, then the cops would come and I don't feel like dealing with the paperwork of witnessing Logan murder someone. What in the world would I say was the murder weapon? "Uh, yes, well you see, he has this thing about trimming his nails..." No. That wouldn't-_

_***Ding-Dong, ding dong***_

_Gah! No! That must be him! All right, just play it cool. Be cool. Just open the door, eat, and then run like a bat out of hell to your room and let him hang with the adults and Scott. _She chuckled at that. Re-_Gambit _and Scott. She even considered sticking around just to see it. _No. You're not sticking around for __**any **__reason. Bad. Very bad._

Rogue _casually_ straightened up and took deliberately slow steps towards the door, knowing full-well that, even though the glass was slightly fogged up due to the chill, he was probably studying her carefully (which she translated as "leering at her creepily"). Putting on her best look of disinterest, the Southern belle opened the door and glanced him over before letting him in. Although looking at him, she wondered if she wanted to let him in. The shock had to have been evident on her face. There was no way she was that skilled at hiding it, but-... _Dear, god he's wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, isn't he?_

His burly leather trench coat was concealing a majority of his attire, but she could see bright scarlet and several sequins peeking out from between the lapels. His stupid face was, of course, plastered with an amused and _stupid_ smirk, as he also took in her appearance. Well, compared to him, she was boring. A pair of jeans, converse and a long sleeved emerald shirt was all she chose to wear.

"It's a tad brisk out, _petite_. T'ink ya' can ogle Remy inside?" The Cajun's smarmy voice broke the perplexed silence and his grin spread across his pink-tinged face.

Blushing against her will (because her cheeks were apparently in league with her mouth to destroy her very life), she stepped back and muttered something darkly under her breath.

"Yeah, yeah, ya' can come in, ya' idiot." She grunted.

"_Merci_,'' came his irritating response, his breath coming out in a gentle mist as it left his mouth.

After he had stepped inside, rubbing his partially-gloved hands in an attempt to warm them, he asked, "An' where can I put my coat?"

Directing a distasteful glance at what minuscule amount of material was visible underneath his ugly coat, Rogue coyly suggested,

"Maybe ya' oughtta' jus' keep it on? Don't want ya' to catch a chill or nothin'." She was quite pleased with her smart response, until he countered with,

"Aw, ya' be worried 'bout lil ol' Remy? I'm touched, really."

_Freakin idiot. He would be able to turn it around for his devious purposes. _

"Do whatever ya' want with your coat. I don't care," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to remember why in the fiery flames of hell she found it to be a good idea to invite him over. _Because my mouth is working to bring about my demise, that's why. First it made me agree to go shopping with Kitty, and because that wouldn't kill me enough as it was, it decided to make sure it got the job done by inviting this dweeb over. _

"_Chere,_ I don't t'ink ya' wanna' tell me I can do whatever I want wit' _any _article o' clothin'," He winked, turning so his back was facing her and then angling his head towards her as he slowly slid one sleeve off of his shoulder. Damn, if the man didn't know how to be seductive. And because that wasn't bad enough, he "accidentally" dropped the coat, allowing it to flutter to the ground and pool around his ankles in a majestic heap. He purposefully lowered his head as if he had just noticed it even existed, and, with a disturbing batting of his eye lashes, pouted his lips and said in a high-pitched voice, "Oops."

Rogue stood agape. Mortified. Aghast. Thunderstruck. Really, there was no single word to describe her pure and unparalleled horror-but not necessarily because of his very unnerving display (_Gawd, who knew he would have made the perfect stripper in another life?), _but because of her _reaction _to his unnerving display.

The stupid Cajun hadn't even finished angling himself away before the bright red blood decided her cheeks would be a pretty cool place to congregate and party, exhibiting itself garishly as a crimson blush. And then her stomach, apparently jealous of the blood's fun, thought a festival of their own-an acrobatic festival complete with summersaults and vivacious swinging about-was the only available option. And then her mouth! Well, thank god the blasted thing converted to monk-ism and took the vow of silence, but it still insisted upon draining all moisture and taking on the feeling of dry cotton balls instead. To top things off, her body as a whole, feeling left out that it had no part to play, contributed in the rebellion by trembling nervously. _Glorious._

Her eyes? Well, she had no problem with how her eyes reacted. Because they weren't dilating and watering because of his display, they were dilating and watering because of the atrocity that was now bombarding her vision with every ounce of egregious color it had. And right now she only saw the _back_ of it. Just the _back_ was that deplorable. Rogue, seizing her opportunity, chose to blame any adverse reaction she had on the sweater (because, _obviously_, that was the reason all along. Her body was just smart enough to predict the travesty even before it was unveiled. His lasciviousness was clearly by no means the cause. That was just a perfectly _ridiculous _notion.) But-that _sweater! That must be what Santa Claus' vomit looks like._

The torso was tolerable. It was just a festive shade of crimson red. No problem, right? But the _trim_ on the torso. The bottom hem was adorned with half-dead, sparkly green and white pom-poms that were clearly _hot-glued_ on and were sparsely placed at uneven intervals. The collar consisted of what was probably the most itchy and glittery wool known to man, in _lovely_ shades of rotten-tomato red and unripe-apple green. The sleeves were so obviously sewed on at a later time (implying the torso had once been a vest, perhaps) and the bright yellow thread used was painfully visible as it served to attach the red and white striped fabric. And the last visible area of the mortifying ensemble was the cuffs, which were festive emerald garland that had been _stapled_ on, the tiny metal hooks sticking out in most places. Yet, somehow, even with the staples, the tinsel was _still _slipping off in several spots, and had shed several slivers with the removal of his coat.

Before she could stop herself, and, if we're being honest, it may indeed be the only appropriate response, the girl blurted out, "What the _hell_?"

"What?" The Cajun replied blankly, and the worst part was, he looked _genuinely _confused-like he had no idea what had caused her previous interjection.

"What are ya'-What in the name of all that is right and holy are ya' wearin'?" She questioned incredulously.

Rogue saw only the back of his head as he bowed his chin towards his chest as if forgetting what he had chosen to put on (_like anyone could forget that god-awful thing.)_

Remy craned his neck around to the previous position where his face was easily perceived but his front still hidden. "Ya' don't like it?" He pouted. Yes, _pouted._ _Like a freakin three-year-old.  
_

"Do-Do Ah _like _it?" The younger echoed with pure awe at his idiocy.

"_Oui_, I couldn't find a nice Christmas sweater, so I improvised an' made my own." He looked so damn proud of himself, until he saw her horror-stricken face. Then he hung his head and let his hair dance limply in front of his eyes. "I guess I can understan' why ya' don't like it. I jus' t'ought dis is what normal people did f'r Christmas, an' since I ain't never had a normal Christmas-" he paused just long enough to rip, tear, and claw his way through every last of of her heart strings "-I just t'ought...Never mind. It was a stupid idea... I'll jus'...Maybe dis whole t'ing was a bad idea..."

_Muahahaha, yes! He's leaving! How perfect! _Was what she wished she was thinking. Instead, she couldn't help but feel sorry for his pitiful, defeated slump and his mournful, mumbled voice. _Aww, but he just looked so gleeful a moment ago! And now look at him-he looks like the puppy at the pound that doesn't get picked day after day... _He bent down to retrieve his coat from the floor, somehow still managing to keep the front of his sweater concealed. _I really should just let him go, but-  
_

"No!" Her sudden outburst caught both by surprise. He widened his eyes slightly and raised his eyebrows, his chin tilted towards her but his back still hunched over.

"Yes, _petite_?" He pressed when she only stared at him awkwardly rather than continuing in speech.

_The one freakin time my mouth decides to take a break. Honestly. _"Um, Ah mean, you're more than welcome to stay. It's, erm, nice that ya' made such a, erm, _nice _sweater."

It was a very good thing the Cajun didn't straighten up until after she had complimented him. Because no way in hell would she have been able to utter the word "nice" in correlation to it had she been able to see his sweater. She thought she was appalled before. She thought the back was horrendous. Well, compared to the front, the back was like gazing at the freakin Mona Lisa. Because of this back was Santa's vomit, then the front implied that the whole of the North Pole itself got the stomach bug and rolled the waste into one, giant, abominable grotesquerie. Her previous view point, though atrocious, was a blank slate aside from the despicable ornamentation around the edges, but her new, blessed sight was anything but _blank_.

A Santa Claus, one that was _surely _of demonic origin, sat on top of a chimney and was grinning gleefully while one of his sausage-y fingers pointed outwards. (Directly at her, she was certain.) His beard and trim were made of cotton balls that had been crudely smushed onto his creepy-ass red face and distorted, corpulent body. His eyes were black (see? _Demonic_) and had pipe-cleaners that served as eyelashes and eyebrows (or potentially eye gook that the demon couldn't contain inside his orbs of sight). The chimney his bloated buttocks were seated on appeared to be made of felt that hadn't been properly cleaned off and was still, ergo, caked in dust. One of his boots was missing, but the other (at least she assumed the awkward black-_thing_-was a boot) was clinging desperately by what was unmistakably scraps of Scotch tape. Because demon Santa was clearly not enough decoration as it only took up the bottom half of the shirt, several freaky-ass elves-sequins and all-were dancing (Yes, _dancing_) above him. Their disturbing little legs were bent at angles impossible for any creature to possibly achieve (even freaky-ass elves) and their hands were raised above their heads in some strange, perverse "hallelujah" signal. Green and red striped blobs could be distinguished as their hats (after much scrutinization) and, the undeniable _tinkle'_s came from the minuscule bells that adorned the tips of their pointed headpieces. Their dwarf lips were stretched into some form of demented, macabre smile that would surely give even the most fearless nightmares. Pointed ears that looked more like horns (_demonic, I tell you)_ peeked out from under their bulbous hats. Rogue wasn't sure if it was confetti or stars, but what was easily _hundreds_ of red, green, gold, and white sequins rained down (or up?) onto the elves in a gigantic, confusing, indistinguishable mass of glitter. A snowman brooch that had been pinned onto his left shoulder was the finishing touch, and, considering, was actually fairly tolerable.

_**XxXxX**_

Remy tried to hide the involuntary grin that threatened to overtake his face when he saw Rogue's reaction. She really should have known better than to tell him that he could do ''whatever'' he wanted with his coat. But, damn, if he wasn't glad she did. Nothing was more adorable than the beet red coloring that immediately held her complexion hostage-and all he did was speak, he had yet to put on his little 'show'. Seeing her shocked expression as he slowly slid off one sleeve made him wish he had brought a camera (granted she probably would have killed him if he had taken a picture of her.)

When he saw her eyes widen and start to water, he almost wondered if he had somehow offended her. Had she been hurt in a way he inadvertently triggered memories of? Relief washed over his concern when he saw that her expression was one of thunderstruck horror, not despair. What in the world-? _Oh_, _**that, **_he remembered as his neck became conscious of the awful scratchy feeling enclosing his throat. A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. _I was hoping you'd like my sweater_. _Just wait til you see the front._

"What the _hell_?" She blurted out.

Remy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, had she no tact? Seeing a way to work this to his advantage, he plastered the most sincere of confused expressions he could manage.

"What?" Came his innocent response. Oh, how he loved the way her face scrunched up as she tried to figure out an appropriate answer to his query.

"What are ya'-What in the name of all that is right and holy are ya' wearin'?" She finally asked.

_You gotta' be confused and innocent, remember? Look down,_ even as he thought the instructions, his head obeyed and angled itself towards his chest. The Cajun was secretly glad she couldnt' see his face, even _he_ couldn't suppress the repulsed grimace that overtook his features as the awful thing came back into sight. _I'm glad I asked ol' St. John to help. Ain't no way in hell I would have been able to create something this hideous on my own. I don't even want to know where that crazy Aussie got this Santa. I'm convinced this Kris Kringle came directly from hell itself, and that his face is so red from all the burns. Demonic Santa._

Coating his face with a dejectedly perplexed pout (_muahaha, no _femme _can resist my pout)_, he returned his gaze back to her. "Ya' don't like it?"

If he thought her eyes were ready to burst from her head already, he was now wondering why the pressure wasn't sending them into orbit. She looked as though she were somehow balancing two ping-pong balls on the delicate bridge of her nose. _How do you have a delicate nose-bridge? ...Oh well, my __**Roguey **__does._

His Southern belle (when did he start referring to her as belonging to him?) spluttered like a fish out of water until she finally managed to come back with, "Do-Do Ah _like_ it?"

_Initiate operation: Pity._ "_Oui_, I couldn't find a nice Christmas sweater, so I improvised an' made my own." _Now to really make her sorry for me,_ he let a small and proud grin twinge the corners of his mouth, then, when he saw her even more incredulous face, hung his head (which was really rather awkward considering his face was still the opposite direction of his body) and made sure some locks of hair tickled his eyes. A pleased smile tried its hardest to dominate his mouth, but he didn't survive this long by not having proper control of his expressions. "I guess I can understan' why ya' don't like it. I jus' t'ought dis is what normal people did f'r Christmas, an' since I ain't never had a normal Christmas-" Now seemed like a good time for a nice, deep breath that paused his speech long enough to clinch that he had her in the palm of his hand "-I just t'ought...Never mind. It was a stupid idea... I'll jus'...Maybe dis whole t'ing was a bad idea..." _Dieu, I'm good. I'd never want to be on the opposite side of me._

Being careful to maintain his defeated slouch, he slowly and sorrowfully bent over and extended his arm towards his beloved trench coat. _This floor had better be cleaner than-_

"No!" Came her hastily exclaimed protest after several beats.

For the first time that night, true surprise marred his features. _Hmm, guess I did a better job than I thought._ Against his will, the skin around his eyes expanded and his eyebrows ascended towards his hairline.

_Looks like she be just as surprised as me. Guess I'd better give her a gentle prod, "_Yes_, petite?" _That brought her out of whatever world she was in enough for her to begin stuttering again,

"Um, Ah mean, you're more than welcome to stay. It's, erm, nice that ya' made such a, erm, _nice _sweater."

It literally looked _painful_ for her to inform him his sweater was 'nice', he noted with glee. Maybe it was sadistic, but he derived such pleasure in irritating and confusing her.

But, oh was her reaction _glorious _when he straightened up! Her astonishment went to horror, and her horror went to what could only be described as utter _fear_.

_Yep, she must have seen demon Santa first__.__ Though these elves are pretty damn terrifying. I'm sure Wade would go off on some spiel about the 'corporate elves' and 'pocket dragons'-whatever the hell those are-if he saw them._

At last, the battle for control of his face was allotted to his muscles, as they stretched his lips into an amused grin. Luckily, she was far too busy stopping herself from vomiting or dashing away in terror to pay any mind to his face.

"Somethin' wrong, _chere_?" Remy finally questioned, deciding the three minutes of speechless silence had already survived too long.

_**XxXxX**_

Rogue had been unabashedly _gaping_ at the travesty he clothed himself in, when his irritating and perplexed voice broke through the fog in her brain and brought her back to reality.

"Um-yeah, Ah was jus', er, admirin' your-your sweater." She spluttered oh so smoothly. _Ugh, that just tasted bad to say I 'admired' that thing. I think I'm going to be sick. Though I've thought that since he unveiled that befoulment._

"Why t'ank ya'!" He beamed (secretly pleased he had a reason to smile as he barely concealed his previous one in time to hide it from her) "I made it all by myself." _Well, St. John helped, but she doesn't need to know that._

"Oh, um, Ah-Ah never would have guessed...that." The younger girl managed to eek out, hastily changing the subject by saying, "Uh, dinner oughtta' be ready soon, c'mon."

_Great. I get to introduce this freak to everyone else. I really hope the Prof informed everyone he'd be here. _Then an exquisitely devious thought blossomed in her mind. _Now Logan can see this! Yes! Muahaha! I hope his enhanced eyesight enjoys it even more than I did. He deserves it after letting Kitty take me shopping. I still can't believe he betrayed me like that. But revenge is nothing if not sweet._

If Remy noticed her newly affixed devilish grin, then the Cajun wisely chose not to comment. Reaching the dining room took no more than a minute, if even that. Considering there were only five other people in the room, the amount of noise that erupted on their entrance was quite impressive. (Though, as it turned out, Logan was responsible for 75% of the din.)

In two swift movements, the feral mutant had grabbed Remy by the scruff of the itchy collar (eliciting several sequins and glitter particles to loose their hold on the material and flutter to Logan's shirt or the floor).

"What the hell do ya' think _you're_ doin' here, bub?"

Before the innocently amused Cajun had the chance to respond, Xavier's voice rung out clear and calm.

"Please, Logan, put the boy down. He has my blessing to be here."

_I guess the Prof didn't exactly spread the word like I had hoped._

"Your _blessing_?" The shorter man echoed incredulously, never taking his narrowed, angry eyes from the boy's relaxed ones.

"Yes, Rogue invited him."

_Damn. I don't suppose you could have implicated someone else while he's threatening the dude with his claws._

"_What, and lie?"_ An amused voice interrupted her thoughts, causing her to lurch in shock and jerk her head towards her bald mentor. The Professor actually winked at her before returning his attention to the predicament at hand.

"Let the boy down, Logan. It _is_ Christmas after all." He added when his friend's face only contorted into more ferocity.

With an embittered grunt, he dropped the stupid man unceremoniously to the floor and turned his gaze to the Southern belle hovering innocently by the doorway.

"Ya' invited this idiot here, Stripes?" He asked, and, lord, he sounded disappointed!

_Disappointed over what? Geesh. Overprotective old man._ She thought before she could stop herself. Why did she suddenly feel so indignant of Remy? _It's this blasted Christmas season. It's messing with you, is all._

"Yeah, Ah didn't think anyone should be all alone on Christmas," she defended, crossing her arms in a stance that just _dared_ him to challenge her.

The feral mutant spared a glance at Remy who was brushing off non-existent dust from his chest as if nothing had happened. An expertly timed look of despair crossed his features while his head was still bowed, before he lifted his gaze and flashed an innocent smile towards Logan, earning an unimpressed growl in response.

Remy raised his hands in surrender, then simply asked, "Where do ya' want me t' put my coat?"

Now, just so its properly understood, Logan's face had been boiling red with rage from the instant he laid eyes on the stupid mutant. But now the crimson wrath spread out to the tips of his ears and disappeared into the neckline of his black shirt. His already bulging eyes protruded so far from their sockets it's a wonder they weren't joining Rogue's in orbit. The vein that was slowly gaining visibility now swelled so far from his forehead and pulsed so rapidly it could be confused for a living organism itself. His already clenched fists were now so firmly clasped they would surely be imploding at any moment. His scrunched up nose was now almost reaching the space between his eyebrows and his tight lips fused together so flawlessly it was nigh impossible to tell one from the other. The shaking that had started off as almost imperceivable trembling now matured into baby convulsions.

"Where-Where-" _Damn, he must be angry if he's spluttering like this. "-__**Where do I want you to put your coat?" **_He echoed, his voice set in a low and menacing growl.

"_Oui_, Roguey wouldn't tell-"

"_Roguey_?!" The protective mutant erupted, taking a threatening stride towards the still utterly calm Cajun.

"_Oui_, _Roguey_, here, wouldn't tell me where t' put it." Remy continued as though he had never been interrupted, happily ignoring the anger radiating towards him.

_I swear to god if you mention that strip tease act I will personally skin you alive._ Rogue thought, realizing too late she was projecting and the Professor had picked up on her threat much as he had before. She glanced at him, resembling quite closely a deer in the headlights, and met Xavier's amused and curious eyes. _Well, crap._

"So I t'ought perhaps you'd be kind enough t' help me out."

"Oh, I'll help you out all right," Logan snarled. "I'll help you out _the door_."

The addressed chuckled lowly."Ya' are funny, at dat, Monsieur Claws. Pay no attention t' da rumors," he added, earning a look of surprise that served to embellish the fierce anger.

"What 'rumors'?" The shorter man demanded.

"Nothin', nothin'. It be Christmas, no reason t' focus on negative an' false t'ings," Remy waved off casually. "Now, 'bout my coat."

Logan probably would have lunged, had it not been for Xavier's tranquil interjection.

"There should be a closet in the hallway. You are welcome to hang it up there."

"_Merci_," he politely inclined his chin downward in acknowledgment before disappearing out the door he had come through.

"What the hell were ya' thinkin', Stripes?" Wolverine demanded, rounding on Rogue next.

"Ah already told ya'. No one should have to be alone on Christmas an' it's not like we're exactly brimmin' with people!" She exclaimed more indignantly than intended, her suspicion that Logan had noticed this as well confirmed by the renewed look of astonishment.

_Yes, my mouth is definitely trying to ensure my untimely demise._

Surprisingly, the mentor let it slide and instead questioned, "And what in living hell is he wearing?"

_Muahahaha, he noticed! I hope his eyes appreciated the lovely colors._ She thought evilly.

She shrugged, "He made it Ah guess."

The words had barely left her mouth when the subject of conversation returned, rubbing his hands together gleefully and asking,

"So, is dinner ready?"

The rest of the occupants-Rogue, Logan, Xavier, Scott, Hank, and Ororo-simply stared incredulously at him.

Ororo was the first to break the silence and she finally answered with, "Just a few more minutes until the ham's ready. I was about to start setting the table now, in fact."

"I'd love t' help," he offered sounding suspiciously _sincere_.

The weather witch shared a slightly confused look with the others before nodding, "That's very generous of you. Hank, you and Scott can sit down, if you'd like."

"I'll start pouring the eggnog," Hank suggested genially, quite pleased, in fact, that Remy had come. More so, he was pleased the _Rogue_ invited him-the Beast had always suspected there was more between the two than the stubborn goth would admit.

"It spiked?" The Cajun interrupted.

"Some of us are still _underaged_." Scott bit out, a constipated look settling on his face and, though his eyes were concealed by his sunglasses, it was evident he was shooting proverbial daggers at the newcomer.

The former acolyte shrugged as though he didn't even notice the distaste and casually stated, "Ain't like dat's ever stopped me before."

The 'boy scout' clenched his fists and crossed his arms in agitation.

"C'mon, _petite_, ya' can help me an' Stormy-" no, the white-haired woman most certainly did _not_ appreciate her new nickname "-set da table."

Rogue cast glances at all of her fellow teammates, two amused, two angry as hell, and one now a mix of both (Storm really _hated_ the 'derogatory' term "Stormy"), before nodding,

"Um, sure." _Oh dear. This should be an interesting meal._ She observed sarcastically, feeling Logan's eyes _literally _burning a hole in the back of her skull as she advanced towards the thief. _Just act casual, you did nothing wrong. You can't help if it Logan is taking on Scrooge's persona for the night. Although with as irritating as that stupid Cajun is, I really can't blame him..._

Remy looked much too pleased with himself as he followed Ororo into the kitchen, utilizing an arrogant saunter for his method of transportation, adding an extra sashay of the hips as he went.

Rogue discreetly glanced back at Logan to see his reaction. It was evident that the feral mutant did not appreciate the display by the way he slammed his fist onto the table and growled malignantly. Because clearly swaggering in the most antagonizing manner wasn't enough icing on the already aggravating cake, Gambit began to hum [_off-tune_] several beloved Christmas carols, surely ruining them in the minds of all who heard.

"_Hark the Herald Angels Sing"_ _will never be the_ _same again. Ever._ Rogue sighed, trailing sluggishly behind the irksome houseguest and stepping into the kitchen.

Remy had stopped humming for the time-being, and was instead inspecting all of the food by lifting the lids and sniffing the contents. Before Rogue got the chance to comment on his stupid antics, Storm strode over and smacked his hand away.

"You'll get to try it in just a moment. Be patient, young man," she told him sternly, but her tone couldn't prevent the amused twinkle in her eyes.

The Cajun pouted again (_like a four-year-old this time, he's maturing, I guess)_ and grumbled in French under his breath.

_Wow. I didn't know French sounded so dreamy even when uttered in irritation. Maybe it's just because of who-No! Bad! Very bad! No more positive thoughts regarding that idiot! French is an ugly language anyway._

"If you would please, just take what you can _safely_ carry and set it on the table,'' the weather-witch instructed, opening the oven and letting the aroma of honey-glazed ham waft throughout the room.

Since he was scolded from sniffing the pots, Remy indulged himself in taking large inhalations and allowing the decadent scent to trail down his throat. Irritated by the sight of his perfectly sculpted-erm, _ugly_ nose jutted straight up in the air to enhance his olfactory abilities, Rogue grunted and grabbed two pots and stalked back into the dining room.

Logan was now sitting down, but he looked no more placated than he had before, and, if it was even possible, appeared to be even _more_ upset.

_Well, good. Let the old man suffer. I certainly did, and I __**did **__vow to make his life hell. Hmm, maybe I should invite Remy over more often...What? Gah! No! You, missy, are a very naughty girl! No thinking about Remy! __**Gambit**__! No thinking about __**Gambit**__!_ Her thoughts were also, quite clearly, in league with her devious mouth and body. How treacherous of them to all gang up on her and rebel in one simple mutiny! Yes, _mutiny_. _I'm onto you, you crafty little devils. And you know what, it won't work! __**I will not let you win with this diabolical mutiny**__!_

The last sentence, of course, was practically shouted to the heavens, and, ergo, heard all too clearly by Xavier. The balding man literally jumped and choked on his water at the unexpected exclamation. Logan _must _have been angry if he didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the aging man's plight; the only reaction the spluttering received was the further clenching of his fists _(yeah, the dude had no circulation in his hands by now_). An expression of perplexed surprise crossed Charles' features once he at last regained his eloquence (_he would choose to act as though he didn't hack up a lung_) and he directed his gaze to the Southern bell.

_Great. Now he thinks I'm insane. Probably because I __**am **__insane. My own body is trying to 'gaslight' me. This is ridiculous. Oo, hey, at least I'm not thinking about Gambit any-...never mind._

The young girl sighed in resignation, offering a weak smile (which morphed into a grimace) to her mentor and hurriedly shifting her position to dart back into the kitchen. Well apparently this blasted mutiny was gaining momentum, for now the very universe was against her (which she had believed all along anyway) and, once she had turned around, she found herself walking into something quite firm (and bright red?).

_What the hell?_ She wondered as she lost balance and began to fall. Only, before she could actually land on the paneled floor, something reached out and gripped her around the wrist, jerking her back to her feet.

"Ya' all right, _chere_?" Remy inquired sounding genuinely concerned.

_Wait, Re-Gambit? Why is he here? Wasn't he just-?! Oh hell no. Are you freakin' kidding me? I just bodily walked directly into Remy?! I mean, Gambit?! This just isn't possible. No one could have __**that **__much bad luck. _

Rogue just gaped at him, replaying the image in her mind. _Let's see, I was hurrying to get away from Xavier and his prodding stare, so I turned around and saw a bright red flash, and then I walked into something firm, and then I almost fell on my ass, but I was jerked to my feet . I just walked directly into Re-Gambit. _

"Um, yeah, I'm fine. Couldn't be better," she assured him, cursing her mutinous cheeks for burning scarlet.

He looked her over, affirming her words. Once satisfied, an amused smirk began to sprawl across his lips. "Ya' do realize ya' jus'-"

Before he could finish his smarmy remark, Logan (who had apparently lurched to his feet) stepped between the two Southerners and began a spewing a slur of threats at the younger man. The Cajun raised his hands in surrender (internally laughing maniacally when one of his cuffs' "garnishings" tickled the feral man's nose.)

Wolverine irately batted the tinsel away, and, was about to continue his tirade, when, suddenly, his angry expression turned blank.

"Seriously, gumbo, what the _hell_ are ya' wearin'?" He grunted, picking at one of the hot-glued pom-poms in bewilderment.

It was Remy's turn to change expressions, and this time he opted for child-like excitement. "Oh, well, I made it! I wanted t' be festive, ya' know, _homme_? An' so I made dis. All by myself." He added with a note of pride the sweater did _not_ warrant.

Apparently even the tough 'n' gruff Logan wasn't immune to Remy's childish glee, and the older man responded by absently running his fingers through his hair and staring in disbelief at the monstrosity exhibited before his eyes.

"Um, that's, um, nice, I guess." He muttered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable as Gambit's beaming face was still glued to his. As quickly as was polite, Logan walked back to his seat by Charles and, looking just as dumbfounded as he felt, lowered himself into the chair.

Remy tried to keep the look of pride on his face, but he knew that some amount of astonishment must have pierced its way through. _Did Monsieur Claws actually say my sweater was 'nice'? And then walk away? Maybe it's a sign of the apocalypse..._

By the time the scrumptious ham was properly cooked, and the table fully furnished with other delicious holiday treats, Logan's anger had returned to replace his bafflement. Everyone took their seats-Xavier at the head of the table, to his right was Logan, Ororo, and Hank, to his left was Scott, Rogue, and Remy-then (after a brief iteration of prayer), everyone sat in silence. They all just stared at each other, unsure of how to approach the commencement of eating, that is, until Remy reinstituted his obnoxious humming and leaned forward to grab the nearest thing-the mashed potatoes.

Wolverine's scowl deepened when he saw the guest take the initiative, and, as per his aggravation demanded, growled when Remy asked if anyone else wanted some.

"Yes, thank you, I think some mashed potatoes would just about hit the spot," Xavier replied with a genial smile, passing his plate to the polite Cajun.

Though he was only [very poorly] humming, the lyrics "Deck the halls with boughs of holly" circulated in all of their minds as Remy continued to load up his plate. Xavier, Hank, and Ororo followed his lead, but both Scott and Logan were to busy glowering and plotting his untimely demise to consider something as trivial as eating. Rogue, on the other hand, simply didn't know what the hell to do.

Finally, on what must have been the _twenty-freakin-fifth_ round of "Deck the Halls", Logan slammed his fist on the table and snarled, "I'm gonna' deck _your _halls, bub."

The humming abruptly stopped and Remy's eyes widened in innocent wonderment. Before he could utter what was probably a snarky retort, the Professor interjected,

"Now do try to play nice, Logan. It _is _Christmas after all."

The addressed didn't respond with anything but a grunt, and then, in what was probably his most civil voice, asked,

"Pass the potatoes, won't ya' gator-bait?"

"_Pas de problemme_, Monsieur Claws," the thief grinned cheekily, extending the bowl out towards him.

"Ya' want anythin', _petite_?" Remy asked, turning attention to the mystified girl beside him.

"Um, Ah'll have the-uh-" _Quick, which bowl is farthest away from him! _"-the corn. Corn sounds good." Rogue had just opened her mouth to ask Logan to pass her said food, when the Cajun abruptly stood to his feet, and walked around the table just to get it for her.

_What the hell is that idiot doing now? You've got to be kidding me._

He returned with a satisfied smirk and even had the gall to grip the spoon and ladle a scoop onto her plate.

"Want more, _chere_?"

"No," she answered through gritted teeth. _Of course I couldn't let this dweeb be alone on Christmas. Geesh._

"Ham?"

"I'm not an invalid, I can get it myself." She huffed, batting away his fork-full of meat.

He pouted (_guess we're back to the two-year-old_) and lowered his offering with a weary sigh.

Dinner continued in a similar manner, Logan and Scott glared at the 'intruder', Xavier, Ororo and Hank tried to be cordial and placating, Remy was gleefully being as innocently irksome as he could get away with, and Rogue just felt plain old uncomfortable.

Rogue was finishing up the dishes, insisting that the others go enjoy themselves (_heh heh heh, with Re-Gambit.)_ while she add the final touches to the clean-up. The young girl was just about through washing, and thinking about _not_-Gambit, when suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck rose to their full height. Acting as though nothing were out of the ordinary, her hands searched for the knife she had haphazardly tossed into the soapy water_. Ouch, I think I found it._ Her thumb was now sporting a tiny nick, but better that than whatever the psychopath behind her could have planned. Turning around and raising the knife in one fluid motion, she almost walked into Remy for a second time that night.

Huffing in irritation at the discovery it was just _him_ she re-took her position at the sink.

_Thank God it was just the moron. I thought this was the other knife._ Rogue was under the impression that she had grabbed one of the large, professional kitchen knives used for chopping vegetables, when, in fact, she was wielding a pathetic little thing that barely qualified as a paring knife.

"Ya' gonna' use _dat _t'ing t' protect ya'self from a vicious killer?" He questioned, manifesting his stupidity to its fullest by taking the empty spot next to her. Well, maybe he wasn't _too _stupid-he _did _just start to dry all of the clean dishes.

"Ya'd be surprised what Ah could do with that, so shut up, Cajun," She retorted, scrubbing at some gook that had made itself quite at home on one of the spatulas.

"Ya' gonna' be so rude t' da man who's helpin' ya'?" The former-acolyte countered, and Rogue tried very hard _not _to think about the way he gently massaged the dishes to dry them.

Knowing that her mutinous mouth would probably just lay more groundwork for her death, the Southern belle opted for silence.

"Did ya' have a nice dinner?"

_Gawd, why does this moron think I'd want to have a normal conversation._

"Yeah, and you?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Better than sittin' at home playin' solitaire. After we be t'rough here, want me t' make some o' my Tante's infamous hot cocoa?" He offered sincerely.

She cast a wary glance towards him. "Um, sure. Why not?"

"I got ya' a present; ya' can open it den if ya' want," he suggested.

"Oh! Yeah, sure." She nodded, trying to be as cool as possible. "Ah have somethin' for ya' as well." Rogue cleared her throat, trying to stop the inane blush that sneaked up on her cheeks.

"Aw, _petite_, 's'nice t' know ya' care," he meant to say it jokingly, but it came out a little more veracious than intended.

The blush just _had_ to bring reinforcements, didn't it? Thankfully, the dishes were done not more than thirty seconds later, and Remy started to retrieve items from the cupboards.

_How in the hell does he know right where everything is? ...Actually, never mind, I don't know want to know._ Rogue corrected her thoughts.

"Let me jus', erm, get your-thing. Ah'll be right back." _Lord, girl, get a grip! Stop all of this senseless stuttering! C'mon, you're Rogue! Fierce, terrifying, strong, and certainly __**not **__one to stumble over words._

Though Remy would never admit it, his entire Christmas, year, _life_ was made by the fact she got him something! It could have been moldy gym socks from some random guys' locker, but as long as _she_ was giving it to him, it didn't matter.

By the time the Southern belle returned, the hot chocolate was ready and Remy was pouring it from the sauce pan to the mugs he had set out. Bringing their steaming beverages over to the table, the Cajun flashed her a warm smile and gestured vaguely to the chair opposite him. She looked uncertain for a beat or two before cautiously seating herself across from him.

He looked expectantly at her. "Go on, tell me whatcha' t'ink." He prodded with an eager nod.

Rogue looked hesitantly, her inner paranoia surfacing ::cough:more-than-usual::cough:: as she scrutinized it. _Crap. I so should have watched him make it. What if he spit in it? Or-Or worse! What if there's rat poison in there, and he only came to kill us all!_

The irrational panic that swelled inside her (because, if we're honest, panic was preferable over whatever the hell was causing those stupid blushes and aggravating butterflies) must have been evident on her face for the other mutant furrowed his eyebrows in concern as asked,

"Somethin' wrong, _chere_?"

Rogue whipped her head up and studied the man for several moments, deciding that he was too attractive-um, that he was too _not-psychopathic-looking_ to kill her.

"Yeah, sorry," she mumbled (which is worse, stuttering or mumbling?) as she raised the toasty drink to her mouth and took a sip. Oh-_oh my. That's good. Like, really good._ Were her initial thoughts as the chocolatey beverage slid its way down her throat, spreading a comforting heat as it went.

"Damn."

"Dat a good 'damn' or a bad 'damn'?" He questioned, looking amused but feeling nervous. _What if she doesn't like it? Hell, I can't make Tante's hot cocoa, who am I-_

"A good damn. Definitely a good damn." She responded, restraining herself from chugging the rest right then and there.

An exuberant smile plastered itself onto the face of the addressed. "I'm jus' glad ya' like it, _chere_."

The two sat in contented silence, both sipping slowly at the delicious drink. Remy at last said,

"Hey, wanna' open ya' present now?"

"Ya' can go first," she told him.

"_Non, non, petite_, why don't you?" He insisted.

Every fiber told her to protest further, however she decided that a majority of that "every fiber" was a mutinous scoundrel so she simply nodded in compliance instead.

He retrieved a small, expertly wrapped box from...somewhere...and happily thrust it into her hands.

Feeling a rush of excitement, Rogue gingerly peeled away the tape and and revealed a tiny jewelry box. Her eyes flickered up to his, surprised by their joyful fervor. Absently raising an eyebrow, she cautiously opened the lid. A light, almost inaudible gasp escaped her lips.

Oh-_oh my. Great, the damn idiot has gotten the reaction out of me __**twice **__tonight. So not cool._

But the contents were so gorgeous! A dainty, tear-drop shaped emerald sat encased in what was probably expensive sterling silver that hung on a delicate chain of the same material. A set of matching earrings were nestled comfortably in the corner.

"Like it, _chere_?"

"Like it?" She echoed. "It's beautiful.'' One of her gloved fingers gently stroked the tiny gem, almost as if affirming its existence

"Ah, not as beautiful as you, _ma cherie_." Remy amended softly, in love with how innocent and awe-struck she looked. That is, until she withdrew her hand and jerked her gaze up suspiciously towards him.

"Did ya' steal these?" She asked vehemently.

"_Non_, o' course not! It's Christmas!" The Cajun denied, then he added, "I may have stolen da money used t' pay for it, but dat's different."

Rogue rolled her eyes, not all that certain whether he was joking or not and deciding that she didn't want to know.

Several paused passed before she cleared her throat and muttered, "Um, Ah got ya' these."

A flash of white obscured by speed blurred his eyes as she laid something on the tabletop directly in front of him. He picked up the rectangular cardstock and and studied them.

"Dis-Dis-?"

"Their admissions to that little Cajun joint in New York City. Ah know that they're pretty authentic an' Ah figured a little piece o' home might be nice, seein' as how ya' can't go back an' all." The girl explained softly. "Ya' can use 'em whenever ya' want."

"Two o' 'em?" He questioned, raising the tickets so she could view them easier.

She shrugged. "Ah figured Pyro might wanna' go with ya'."

"What 'bout you?"

The question was innocent enough, but it still caused her to spew her hot cocoa out of her mouth and choke on what little made it down her throat.

"What?" She rasped.

"How 'bout you go wit' me?" He repeated, amused by her display.

"Um, Ah really don't-"

"Please, chere? It'd mean da world t' me." _And then I'd get the only thing I wanted for Christmas-a date with the most _belle femme_ in the whole world._

"Ah...It wouldn't be a date, would it?" She questioned, cursing herself. That was _not_ what she wanted to ask.

"Ya' could call it whatever ya' want." He shrugged, knowing the word 'date' would scare her off.

"Ah-Ah guess that wouldn't be too awful."

"Ya' mean ya'll go?" He asked excitedly.

"Yeah," she affirmed. "Ah'll go."

Damn her body for carrying out its final act of mutiny. But...what if Rogue no longer minded?

* * *

I hope you liked the second installment! I had a blast writing Remy's ugly sweater, as well as Logan's reaction to his presence:)

In one of Rogue's thoughts, she makes a reference to being convinced her mutinous body is trying to "gaslight" her. If you're not familiar with the movie/play called "Gaslight", the basic plot is the husband tries to drive his wife insane, so I had to use it.

I believe I covered everything. If you see any grammatical/spelling errors, feel welcome to inform me and I will remedy it as soon as possible:)

*Ahem*

_You thought you'd be spared a poem? You should know better_  
_Reviews are so glorious, unlike Remy's sweater_  
_How can one know if this weird chapter was liked?_  
_Unless one gets reviews, I'm already psyched._


	3. Chapter 3

Yes, yes, I know! Another chapter! How shocking! Kudos to _Dark Lord of the X-men_ and the guest reviews who encouraged me to add to the story:)

Wade has been holding the muses and plot bunnies hostage on this story for several weeks now (I still don't know what I did to merit such rudeness) but he at last returned enough to finish a short, introductory chapter. I hope Wade doesn't feel the need to apply the same methods to the rest of you.

A special shout-out to _xmenfan33 _just for being awesome and understanding and inadvertently inspiring me to write^.^ (Seriously, go read her stories. Do it)

Disclaimer: Operation Luella Kosnowski is still in progress, so for the moment I own nothing. Wade and I are working on that and hopefully one day I can honestly say I own them. But, for the moment:** NO. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

The day had started out like any other day. Which, was of course, quite irritating.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! _The alarm clock screeched demandingly, clearly angered that it wasn't receiving the attention it felt it was due.

The young Southern mutant groaned and tried to burrow further underneath her fluffy mass of blankets that protected her from the chill of the outside world (_damned Northern winters_). But nothing could stop (or even muffle) the horrendous shrieks the diabolical machine was emitting. Her head nestled deeper into the puffy cotton of her pillow, but to no avail in blocking out the atrocious din.

Letting another annoyed grunt escape her lips, she extended one arm and blearily let her hand feel the surface of her nightstand in half-hearted attempts to shut off the source of the terrible noise. _Freaking Logan. God forbid he let us sleep in at all. Ever since everyone returned from Christmas vacation, he set the stupid Danger Room session to start at 6. Six in the morning! On a non-school day! How could someone be so heartless? Yes, my plan for revenge is definitely going to have to broaden; I don't think Re-Gambit's deplorable sweater was near enough punishment._

At last, her closed fist came smashing down on the wretched device, and it was quite probable she had broken yet _another_ alarm clock. Now that the egregious peals were at last silenced, it was so incredibly easy to imagine she could just snuggle into her sheets and go back to sleep. But then Logan would barge in and wake her up. A subconscious shudder racked her body. No, that idea was definitely not one she enjoyed entertaining.

Exhaling deeply in resignation, Rogue slowly began to stretch out her compacted body and extricate herself from the tangled bundle of sheets. _Wrong. This is just wrong. There's a only five days left of vacation-can't we just enjoy these five and __**then **__go back to torment?_

She stretched slightly before at last rising to her feet and groggily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She had made it two steps from her mattress, but then she made the mistake of glancing out her window. Her eyes widened and an inaudible gasp escaped her lips _.god. The sun isn't even up-why the hell am I?_If Rogue had been one to cry over such trivial matters, she surely would have burst into tears and collapsed in a sobbing heap on the floor.

Her feet sluggishly shuffled her over to the French doors (which served as her windows) and hastily began to draw the curtains together, but not before a sweeping shadow caught her attention. The drowsy girl rested her forehead against the glass (because clearly leaning forward to see better caused far too much strain on her neck) and stared into the expanse. Storm's gardens (which should seen be back in bloom as the Weather Witch almost always used her powers to help them come out early), a small patio, a hunched figure behind one of the chairs, the vague outline of the pool, the snow-covered lawns-_wait, what?_

Yes, evidently Rogue's brain's ability to process was at least three seconds behind her vision, but she at last noticed the anomaly. Her green eyes-having now woken up and become alert-zeroed in on the spot where she thought she saw something-some_one. _But, alas, if there was truly anything there in the first place, the patio was devoid of any suspicious forms lurking in the vast amount of shadows. Still, her paranoid brain refused to let it drop and she stood studying the landscape for several more minutes.

A violent pounding on the door startled her out of her wary scrutinization of the grounds, and she found herself whipping around and crouching in a low, defensive position. (No one need know that her tired-state caused her to lose balance and land flatly on her behind.)

"Get your ass outta' bed, Stripes! Even Half-Pint is up earlier!" A grumpy voice that could only belong to Logan accompanied the beating down of the door.

Rogue wanted to tell him that she _was _up (well, right now she was _down_. On the floor.) She also was inclined to tell him of the sketchy figure she thought she saw. But, for whatever stupid reason, she didn't. She simply sat there, crumpled on the wood-floor, and grunted unintelligibly.

"Good! Danger Room-five minutes!" He bellowed, and his loud footsteps were painfully audible as he stalked away.

The Southerner sighed, lethargically pushing herself to her feet and massaging her sore rump once fully upright, then moved over to her wardrobe to find her uniform. After about thirty seconds of staring blankly into her [virtually empty] wardrobe, Rogue shook her head.

_Damn, I must be tired. When have I ever put that thing away where it belongs?_

She scanned the room with her eyes, focusing on each of the numerous piles of clothing scattered intermittently throughout. _I wonder if any of these are even remotely clean._ She mused, deciding a sniff test would be in order later on. Not that she really cared what she smelled like-she had no one to impress. _Except a certain card-wielding Caj-No. Bad. Very bad. _She repeated. It seemed that the simple phrase had become her unofficial mantra since running into the idiot at the mall.

Deciding to focus on other things than the dweeb (which became very difficult. _Don't think about Re-Gambit. Don't think about Gambit. Don't-damn it!_) she began to examine the mounds of clothing in an attempt to unearth her stupid spandex uniform. When she at last located it, even Rogue found herself slightly aghast by the stench rolling off of the rancid material. Suppressing a gag, she dashed over to her vanity and grabbed a random body spray. By the time she was satisfied with its new fragrance, the jumpsuit was basically drenched so much one could almost squeeze liquid from it.

Oh well. The thing turned out to be damn near impossible to put on-the material practically fusing itself to her skin as she tried to shimmy into it. _Thank God I closed the curtains-what if there really is some psychopath lurking creepily out there?_ That thought prompted her to tried to yank the wretched thing over her body even more vehemently, cursing her procrastination on the matter of laundry, for she now felt very uneasy and she couldn't leave until the blasted suit was on.

As if sensing her increasingly-panicky thoughts, the diabolical uniform joined her body's mutiny against her and struggled even more adamantly to stay _off_ of her form. Well, luckily it didn't take too long for the perfume to dry, and, once it did, the wretched thing became much easier to tug on. Although that also made it much more revolting. Now not only did it emit putrid odors, the spandex material had became crusty and stiff and made movement elicit peculiar sensations.

Sighing, she hastily tossed her hair into a loosely and poorly done pony-tail and then carelessly drew on some eye liner and mascara (she was the _Rogue _and there was nothing that would prevent her from adding at least a little makeup. She had a reputation to uphold, after all.)

Rogue plastered a scowl onto her face (which, when one had such a morning as her, was there really any other facial expression suitable?) and stalked awkwardly out of her room and towards the stairs. She didn't pass anyone as she trudged towards the elevator (located on the ground floor. God forbid there be one near the dorms), and was quite pleased with her uncustomary good luck.

Everyone was already congregated in the Danger Room by the time the Southern girl arrived, and she glared at anyone who dared to think making eye contact was acceptable.

"Took ya' long enough, Stri-" Logan started to reprimand irascibly, but once he got within ten feet of her, he suddenly froze and adopted a nauseated expression. His nostrils flared and his eyes even started to water.

"What the hell is that smell, kid?" He demanded, doing his best to look gruff even though he didn't think he had ever had the need to vomit so irrepressibly.

Rogue stared at him in confusion for the briefest moment, before it hit her. It took every ounce of willpower to not spread a maniacal grin onto her features.

_Yes. Of course. __**Glorious**__. Thank God I didn't wash this thing sooner. Phase two of my sensory revenge has been executed. First his vision by that god-awful sweater Re-Gambit wore, and now this. Muahahaha! I couldn't do better if this had been planned! Good. He looks ready to puke. Now I wish I hadn't squirted on so much body spray-although maybe that made it worse._

Fighting down the diabolical flash of teeth she so wished to allow, the Southern girl donned an innocent expression and _innocently_ asked, "Whatever do ya' mean, Logan?"

He narrowed his already slit-like eyes and wrinkled his nose at the repugnant aroma. "That your uniform?" He questioned in a grunt, crossing his arms over his chest.

She casually bowed her head and took a large, theatric sniff (_Oh, gawd. No more deliberate sniffs. Ever. I think I'm gonna' puke)_ and, after a moment to gain composure (because that stuff was rancid. _Rancid_), looked up and shrugged. "Ah don't smell anythin'."

"Ya' don't-" He spluttered in surprise and gaped at her. "Ya' don't smell _anything_?!"

The girl shook her head, making sure to widen her eyes and look as child-like as possible.

His incredulous study of her lasted another minute or so before he nodded and sighed wearily. "All right fine. Jus'-Jus' go join the others. An' go the long way, okay?" He added when she took a step his direction.

Rogue scowled and rolled her eyes before turning around and making a wide circle before standing near the others. Several gasps and (_hell, yes!_) even a gagging noise greeted her once she got within range of their olfactory senses.

"Ew, like, what even is that?"

"Oh, god, I'm going to be sick!"

"All right, who didn't wash their uniform?!"

"That's just not right, dude!"

And such exclamations were tossed about, sparking what can only be properly described as utter _glee _inside the instigator.

"Rogue, is that-"Scott had just started to address the Southern belle, almost certainly to accuse her of bringing the noxious odor, but Logan interrupted his query by calling the session to a start.

"Enough chit-chat, everyone!" He barked, a snarl contorting his face in his ever-present attempt to terrify the students. He clasped his arms behind his back as everyone filed into a straight horizontal line; then he began to pace in front of them.

"Today's session will be test-" The feral mutant stopped, a nauseated expression overtaking his expression as he neared Rogue. Pausing and trying _very hard_ to keep what was in his stomach where it belonged (you know, _in his stomach_), he simply stood there before taking several casual steps away from the source of the stench and resuming his discourse, "Today will be focusin' on your teamwork an'-"

_All X-men, please report to the main entrance immediately_. Xavier's voice rang through their heads.

The students, murmuring amongst themselves about the strange command, began to slowly filter out. Rogue started to join them, when Logan quickly yelled,

"Change firs' Stripes. _Now._" He ordered, gesturing vaguely to the girl's locker room. Lucky for him she was starting to feel light-headed and feared passing out herself, otherwise she would have defied his request.

Grumbling under her breath (more for appearance's sake than anything), Rogue trudged her way to the locker-room, thankful that she had stashed several changes of clothes for when she simply showered down there rather than upstairs. Getting out of the uniform took several tries, the damned thing insisted on clinging to every inch of skin available, and ergo she exerted more effort than preferable to wriggle out of the awful thing. Once finally extricated from the disgusting suit, she quickly slipped into a pair of jeans and a plain purple long-sleeve she had stuffed haphazardly into a duffle bag. A few whiffs of the putrid fumes still danced around her figure, so she squirted several sprays of a different perfume, pleased that it helped rather than hurt as it had before.

Sighing and half-heartedly contemplating what had caused the intrusion (not that she minded), Rogue took her time as she moseyed her way up to the ground floor. For once, her mind was uncharacteristically void of most thoughts. She should have instantly took it for the ominous sign that it was (between her own stupid musings and the added voices-most of which were easily controlled-her mind was always anything but quiet), but such warning signs had trickled out of her brain in much the same manner that did her thoughts. Thus, it was quiet. _Too _quiet. But Rogue paid no attention and continued her leisurely amble up to the elevator that would transport her to where the rest were gathered.

A sharp, high *ding* emitted when the doors to the lift spread apart, and the Southern mutant took her cue to exit the tiny metal box.

The poor girl was so oblivious as to what doom awaited her in the foyer that it could quite literally be said to _hurt._

_**XxXxX**_

Rogue stepped off of the elevator, and, paying little attention to her surroundings, absently wove her way through the hallways that would result in her reaching her destination of the foyer. A low murmur of suspicious?confused?irritated? chatter grew in auditory level the nearer she proceeded, but, alas, even after the painfully obvious warning signs, she barely even processed the din. (As was stated, she was so oblivious it _hurt_.)

The instant the Southern mutant tread out of the corridor, and into view of those in the foyer, the rumbling jabber ceased and the occupants gaped [quite unabashedly] at her.

"Um, can Ah-" she started, unnerved and confused by the sudden attention she was receiving, however, she was oh so rudely interrupted.

"_Cherie!_" An obscenely _irritating_ voice (if she was so oblivious it hurt, than this voice was so irritating it was _agonizing_) exclaimed gleefully.

She froze. Like, not metaphorically-no, the girl quite _literally_ froze in every applicable use of the word. Her once steadily pumping blood not only sped up to an unhealthy rate, but also decided to take on a frigid temperature as it spread its way throughout her veins, sending unwanted chills and erupting involuntary goosebumps in its wake. Her once animated and alive muscles now seized and refused to shift into a different position, resulting in her being utterly rooted to the spot. Her eyes widened and maintained the most dilated circle her pupils would allow. Air ceased flowing in and out of her lungs as the simple action of _breathing_ suddenly became far too complex to execute. If her mind was blissfully tranquil before, it was now a blank slate with one single thought frozen in neon letters: _Gambit_.

_Gambit, _of all people was here. Right in her home. Mere feet away from where she stood her gaping (her jaw was frozen in a slack hanging position, by the way) was _Gambit_.

"It has been far too long, _petite_," He grinned, taking small steps to slowly minimize the gap between them.

She simply remained glued to the spot, her mouth and tongue working desperately to form at least _one_ word that could relay her less-than-charming feelings on their unexpected reunion. But that blasted mutiny was still in control, so she could only splutter incoherently.

"'S'okay t' be speechless, _chere_. I often have dat effect on people." He told her in a consolatory voice.

Considering her vocal cords refused to produce sound, Rogue opted for her most deathly glare. She straightened up, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest, and narrowed her eyes into the most terrifying glower known to man-one that caused all the occupants to [try to] repress an involuntary shudder. Except Remy. Of course the idiot's reaction was to only stretch his stupid lips further across his cheeks and plaster the most aggravating of grins onto his face.

"Ya' be kinda' cute when you're mad, Roguey," He pointed out, his feet taking him a foot closer.

Finally, _finally_, Rogue was allowed to regain some semblance of control over her body.

"'_Roguey'_?!" The Southern belle echoed with a voice absolutely _dripping_ with ire. A smidgen of incredulity latched itself onto her face, but the overall effect was definitely one of rage as opposed to disbelief.

"Ya' like it?" The Cajun questioned innocently, a dangerously mischievous glint rooted in his eyes.

"Do Ah 'like' it?! Why in the unholy flames of hell would Ah '_like' _it?" The incredulity definitely gained dominance in that statement, but the annoyance took rule on her facial expression and body language.

"Because I thought of it?" He offered flippantly.

The girl didn't reply for several moments, trying to return an appropriate counter. However, drawing a blank, she huffed and began moving towards the back of the rest of the team, an almost inaudible "No, Ah most certainly do _not_ like it" exiting her mouth as she passed him.

As soon as she took her place in the backmost part of the group of teens, Kitty latched her hands onto Rogue's bicep.

"Aren't you, like, so excited he's here?"

"_Excited_? Why on God's green Earth would I be '_excited_'?!"

"I'm not stupid, you know. It was, like, _you_ who invited him over for Christmas," the petite brunette pointed out.

Rogue tried to retort, but, damn her brain, she couldn't come up with an acceptable reply. So instead, she rolled her eyes and muttered an irascible "Shut up."

Kitty opened her mouth to comment, but Xavier's strong, commanding (yet somehow gentle?) voice pervaded the near-silence and caused her to snap her jaw shut.

"As I was saying. Mr. LeBeau and-"

"Remy, please," The discussed interjected. "Gambit if ya' must, but certainly _not_ 'Mr. LeBeau'." There may have been a twinge of distress in his voice as he made the correction, but it was so minuscule and brief no one happened to notice.

The bald professor paused, but inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Very well. Remy-" he placed a delicate emphasis on the name "-has asked to join our ranks. I, of course, have granted his request."

A series of murmurs-either outraged or giggly (there were numerous teenage girls, after all)-erupted at the statement. All Professor X had to do, however, was raise a hand and the room became instantly silent once again.

"I am well aware of our past with Mr.-Remy, but I do hope we can keep it just that: in the past. We have all changed since that time. I am proud of you all for the gracious way with which you accepted Piotr-" the Russian bowed his chin by way of thanks "-and I expect you will all extend the same courtesy to Remy. I have discussed the aspects of his involvement with us, and he has assured me to abide by all of our rules. Scott," he shifted his attention to focus more solely on the student who was akin to a son to him: Cyclops, "until we have time to change sleeping arrangements, Remy and you will be sharing a room."

Though his sunglasses shielded his eyes, it was evident that they were more than likely protruding a great deal from their usual position nestled tightly in his sockets.

"Will that be a problem?" Xavier inquired, just enough chastisement lacing his voice to make it clear there would _not_ be a problem.

The young leader swallowed hoarsely, the veins bugling in his temples relaying how very unhappy this newest development made him. Taking a moment to compose himself, Scott at last rasped out,

"No. Of-of course that won't be a problem." It was a good thing anger did not enhance his mutation enough to make the sunglasses defunct, for lasers would certainly be blasting from his eyes due to the glare he aimed at Remy.

"Good. Do you have all of your possessions here with you now, Remy?" The professor addressed the most recent addition.

"All right here," He beamed holding up a small duffle bag that looked as though it couldn't possibly contain more than two changes of clothes and some basic toiletries.

"That is all?"

"'S'all I'm bringin' here. I may have other storage units, though." Remy added as an afterthought, and both his intonation and expression seemed to indicate said 'storage units' contained nothing that was actually legal (or even _his_ to begin with.)

Several people rolled their eyes, but Xavier simply replied with, "Very well then. Scott, if you would please show him to your room now. And, Rogue," now his words were now aimed towards the Southern belle brooding in the back and cursing Remy's existence, "If you would please meet him here in fifteen minutes and then give him a tour of the grounds."

The reactions were simultaneous and varied. Remy looked gleeful-as though a child who was told Christmas would be coming early this year. Rogue stood gaping like a fish out of water, far too dumbfounded to even process how she was potentially supposed to be feeling. Logan's face had taken on the shade of tomato red, spackled with deep purple veins forming a lightning-like pattern across his forehead and surrounding areas. Scott was still far too insulted over the fact he had a new roomie to even hear Xavier's previous statement. Kitty was jumping up and down and bubbling over the idea of _Rogue _giving _Remy_ a tour. Both Xavier and Hank looked amused and pleased over the prospect (because, though Kitty was widely known as the matchmaker, when it came down to it, Xavier and Hank ((especially the former)) were the _real _masterminds behind staging relationships.)

_Great. Not only is this idiot here to stay, but now I have the _joy _of giving him a freaking tour. How lovely this day is turning out to be..._

* * *

I'm hoping to get out all/most of my author's notes this chapters to explain what I expect from this story, so I apologize in advance for the length below-hopefully I'll be able to not have to add any author's notes in following chapters.

I have at least four more chapters in mind, but we'll see how that goes... I'm rather nervous posting a story that I have not already written up most of the chapters, and because of this have a goal to update every other Monday (so every two weeks). I'm really hoping to update sooner than that, but if I can't I'd feel awful so I'll add a chunk of extra padding:)

This is probably closer to the average size of the chapters to come (3-4000 words). I realize the first two installments were rather monstrous, but that was because my intent was never to continue to this story. (Here's hoping I don't regret _that_ decision.)

I will, most likely, be changing the title and summary, so if you are graced with any [non-Christmasy?] ideas, feel free to offer them up; though, depending on the suggested title and direction of the story, I may not necessarily use them:)

If you see any grammatical/spelling errors _please_ tell me. I always go over my work several times before posting it, but I'm liable to miss something. I want my stories to be as accurate as possible, so please, oh please inform me of a mistake so that I may fix it:) (Although for whatever reason it doesn't like my double hyphens, to form a proper dash, so that will be incorrectly used unless it spontaneously decides to cooperate)

Now, as for my poems. I will only post one every other chapter to spare you. (Though, to be honest, I write them more because it's fun to see what I can come up with, than to get reviews, haha.) But I do love reviews-I love to hear what others think of what I post, even if they think it's the stupidest thing they have ever come across.

There, I believe I covered all my bases and hopefully the following chapter will not have such rambling additives:)

Poem time!

_I added chapters to a completed work,  
__Something I've never done  
__Opinions are craved (don't be a jerk)  
__Even if it's only that of one_

_It's no longer Christmas themed  
__Something I hope you don't mind  
__I've changed it-something I never dreamed  
__Leave a review, but please be kind!_

_..._All right, so the above poem is definitely lacking. But just hold onto the hope that you'll be spared next chapter, haha! Follows, favorites, and reviews are exceedingly loved! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Here is the newest chapter! It was going to be a little longer, but then it got _too_ long; so I chopped it into two separate installments:) (This story just won't quit. Geesh)

* * *

Everyone filed out of the foyer, all chattering away excitedly in lieu of the new developments. Only Rogue remained, stubbornly cursing the very existence of each soul still breathing. Really, none of them that she knew were earning their keep at the moment.

There was something seriously wrong with Professor Xavier. He _claimed_ to be fighting evil, when, in actuality, he was the diabolical leader instigating the evil still in the world. If this were false, then why on Earth would he be so cruel as to put Scott and Remy in the same room? And why - _why, I ask you_ - would he possibly consider Rogue's giving Remy a tour was an even remotely acceptable idea? Because it clearly was _not_. Allowing Remy to live at the mansion at all was like a dream come true. A bad dream! A _very bad _dream. Like a nightmare. Yes, his living at the institute was like a _nightmare_ come true for Rogue. And Scott and Logan, if their "less-than-pleased" facial expressions were any indication.

_At least he isn't wearing that stupid head sock thing._ Rogue thought, subconsciously huffing as she moodily crossed her arms. _Unfortunately he can't __**not **__wear that stupid face of his._

Most likely because Rogue's brooding was far too peaceful, Kitty Pryde got the brilliant idea to return in bounding leaps (_enter: gazelle mode_) and crossed the foyer in no more than two extravagant pirouettes.

"This is, like, so exciting, right?" She gushed after performing a final flutter to reach Rogue's melancholy form.

"Do ya' have to keep usin' a form of that word?" The Southern grumbled irritably [in reference to her being 'excited' about Remy], taking a casual step away from her friend.

"What?" The brunette asked blankly, but apparently the query wasn't important enough to merit her attention, for the next instance she was beaming and prodded, "But, like, he's _here_! Living in the same house, well, like, _mansion_, as you!"

"Thank you, Kit. Now that we both have a firm grasp of the obvious." Rogue rolled her eyes, ignoring Kitty's disheartened pout.

"Gosh, you don't have to be so rude." However any amount of distress that Rogue's biting response may have caused disappeared a moment later as more pressing matters replaced it. "Xavier is, like, so totally on your side! I mean, asking _you_ to give that gorgeous hunk a tour? All the girls are totally jealous."

"Well they can have him then." The older deadpanned, sparing an annoyed glance for the girl beside her.

"Psh, he probably thinks we're all in Icksville - " _Dear god, she just said 'Icksville' _" - it's so obvious that, like, _you_ are the one he has his sites set on."

"Uh, yeah. Sure he does," she scoffed disbelievingly.

"Roo - ogue!" She whined, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. "Denial isn't just a river in Africa."

_Seriously? That's so pathetic. What idiot came up with that. _"Ah ain't in denial, Kit."

"Well, if you _are_ in denial, it's not like you'd admit it! That's, like, kinda' the whole point of denial, you know."

_Her insights are just so helpful. Where would I be without her? _Rogue really had no problem with Kitty - none at all. But the subject that she had chosen was not exactly one our Southern belle wished to openly discuss and, as an unfortunate result, the girl herself was receiving Rogue's most sarcastic side.

"Yeah, Ah think Ah know what denial entails."

"Well, than you should totally realize in you're in - " _I swear if she says 'Denialsville' _" - denial. Maybe you should, like, talk to someone about it!" Perhaps the most terrifyingly _nefarious _glint erupted in Kitty's eyes. "I bet Remy would just _love_ to talk to you about it!"

"What? No!" The Southerner declined much too hastily and with far too much gusto. _Fabulous. My cheeks are burning. My damned body and its damned mutiny._ She thought because, in fact, her face _had_ taken on the most charming shade of fire hydrant red. Clearly someone was fiddling with the thermostat and released a sudden and mistaken rush of heat - it's not as though there were any _other_ possibilities as to the abrupt heightened blood flow to her cheeks.

"You know you want to!" Kitty pressed in an obnoxiously sing-song voice.

"No. No, Ah don't," She denied firmly.

"Psh, like, don't deny it. I can totally see right through you."

A small groan of frustration emitted from Rogue, before she buried her face in her hands and tried to ignore her friend.

_**XxXxX**_

Scott stalked moodily up the stairs, trying his hardest to block out the irritating humming the Cajun behind him felt the need to make quite audible. To make matters worse, it sounded suspiciously like a Justin Bieber song; you know, that idiotic one that had must have stretched the kid's lyrical creativity by going "Baby, Baby, Baby - Oooo!" Yeah, _that_ one. And the stupid moron was humming it as intrusively and aggravatingly as possible.

_You're the leader. You have to set an example for the younger ones and try to welcome him,_ Cyclops reminded himself. But the thoughts did nothing to reduce his anger, evident by the vastly protruding vein on his temple.

Remy was following the X-man as closely as possible, being extra careful to execute his most infamous and arrogant saunter rather than his usual gait (in rhythm to "Baby", of course.)

"So, Scottie," The new-comer began, reveling joyously at the way "Scottie" stiffened and clenched his jaw in annoyance. "Since we be new roomies an' all, dere anythin' ya' wanna' tell me 'bout ya'self?"

The addressed snorted. "Like what?"

"Hmm, well, for example, Remy's firs' kiss was when he was 7. Though I prefer to talk about my first French kiss, which - "

Scott blanched and quickly interjected, "I don't wanna' hear it!"

Gambit pouted and readjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Fine. I don't wear briefs. I wear boxers."

Scott actually growled at that - perhaps he had seen too much of Logan - and demanded through gritted teeth, "Why would I want to know that?"

"'Cause we're roomies, an' I peg ya' for a brief dude, so we'll never have problems wonderin' whose dirty underwear is on da floor like me an' Johnny did." The Cajun explained, sounding frighteningly sincere.

Scott smacked a palm to his forehead (it was a wonder the impact did not burst the bulging vein that had taken residence there) and paused mid-stride.

"I - I - " He strained, trying to come up with a response that did _not_ involve physical harm: a very trying task, indeed. "I really _don't_ want to hear about your preference in underpants - "

"I prefer da term 'underwear'," Remy informed him innocently.

The dark haired mutant inhaled sharply - another attempt to keep control - and then gritted out, "I don't want to hear about your _underwear_, or how you and Pyro - "

"St. John, John, Johnny. But not Pyro," The Cajun corrected.

"I'll call him Pyro if I darn well please!" Scott exclaimed before he could stop himself, his body whipping around and angling himself in an "intimidating" stance towards his former enemy. The leader was certainly far more surprised by his outburst than he who had received its full attention. Remy, ever un-phased, simply quirked an eyebrow and calmly replied,

"Ya' can call him Pyro, but Johnny suits him much better."

The X-man did not have a legitimate response for that, and stood floundering his lips with all the eloquence of a fish out of water in a desperate attempt to form some intelligible rebuttal.

"But ya' were sayin'?" Remy pressed 'considerately', as if none of what had just happened actually _happened_, and put on his most innocent expression.

Scott still had no idea how to respond (a reaction generally common when Remy is involved) and instead gaped unabashedly at the young man across from him. Exhaling deeply, he finally straightened up and grunted,

"Let's just go."

The new addition shrugged nonchalantly. "'S'up to you, _homme_."

Summers stared at him for another moment, before sighing wearily and resuming his pace towards his - _their_ - room. An almost inhuman guttural noise emanated from his throat when Remy resumed his abominable humming, this time to the tune of One Direction's "What Makes You Beautiful".

By the time they reached their room, Scott was about to explode from the pressure of stuffing down his aggravation, and Remy was acting as innocently irritating as possible - like he had no clue how close he was to pushing his now-teammate over the edge (when, in fact, he most definitely did).

"Here we are," The leader muttered darkly, his temper clawing to get out and - well, not _kill_ Remy, but perhaps maim him? Yes, maiming seemed acceptable as long as there was no permanent damage.

"Ah, home sweet home," The Cajun murmured absently as he stepped into the bedroom. The neatness had an almost military level to it, something Remy immediately decided would have to change, of course. The walls were a deep blue and the floor a pale-ish carpet that was completely void of any stains (_I'll have to eat something red in here. Tomato sauce. Or maybe jello_) and was even vacuumed in a manner that each stroke went parallel to the one next to it. (Which was decidedly _not_ normal. Unless you were Adrian Monk, at any rate.) There was only the one bed at present, its bed spread draped around the sides and pulled taught so not a single wrinkle diseased the surface. Even his pillows were deprived of even a crease.

Next to the bed was a nondescript night stand, bothered only with an alarm clock and a lamp. The dresser was across from the foot of the mattress, and permitted nothing to make a home on its top. A closed door that Remy correctly assumed went to a closet lay a few feet to the right of that; and just beyond said wood panel was a set of French doors that led out to a balcony.

But there was nothing - _nothing, I tell you_ - littered on the floor. Not a sock, not an empty wrapper, heck, not even a freakin' dust bunny. The order was almost too much to even begin to comprehend. I mean, really, who does that anyway? What teenage boy (or was he technically 20? Remy neither knew nor cared) kept such a pristinely tidied living space? Oh that's right, _no teenage boy did_. Heck, no one who would consider himself part of the male sex inhabited such immaculately arranged rooms. (Which did beg the question as to whether or not Scott considered himself a man or not. Remy certainly didn't think he deserved such a title.)

Well, there was simply _one_ course of action for our beloved Cajun to employ.

Deciding he was not going to get a much more of a welcome than the angry way Scott glowered at him, Remy sauntered into the center of the room, dropping his bag unceremoniously on the floor. Though his sunglasses obscured them, it was rather evident that at least one of the X-man's eyes was twitching.

"Ya' ain't shy are ya'?" The newbie asked in a dangerously nonchalant voice.

Befuddlement replaced annoyance as the addressed merely blurted, "What?"

"Well, dere's only one bed, an' I happen t' sleep in da nude, so - "

"They're going to put in another bed!" Scott shouted hastily as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (which it really kind of was.)

"Oh." He looked genuinely surprised and then adopted a look of contemplation. "Well, if dey don't have it in by tonight, I suppose I can add a pair of boxers t' make ya' more comfortable."

"You'd better be wearing at least boxers whether we get another bed or not!" Cyclops warned.

Remy shrugged. "As long as ya' close ya' eyes until I slip 'tween da sheets, I don't see what difference it makes."

That earned him a growl of frustration that he outwardly ignored but inwardly took with great pride.

"I'll be right back," Scott grumbled, and it was almost painfully obvious that his sudden need for departure had nothing to do with accomplishing a task; unless said task was to rein in his annoyance.

Getting an idea that could only be credited to a stroke of genius, Remy wrenched open one of the dresser drawers, unable to contain the devious grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame.

_**XxXxX**_

When Scott at last had cooled down enough to return to his..._their_...room, he still took his sweet time in making the brief trek back. It wasn't until he was strolling down the hallway that it occurred to him that leaving Remy alone in his (_their, darn it_) room was not exactly the most brilliant idea. His ears were graced with hearing him singing "Sexy Back" by Justin Timberlake. Um, not that Scott knew that song. No, really, _he_ certainly was not familiar with it. *Ahem* Anyway, the X-man heard his temporary roommate singing _something_ as obnoxiously and audibly as possible and he found himself concerned by exactly what sight he would be met with upon entrance.

"_I"m bringin' sexy back_,"

As Scott's speed increased, so did his trepidation.

"_Them other boys don't know how to act_,"

The leader rounded the corner just as Remy started cooing, "_I think it's special - "_

Blood rushed to the prudish one's ears and his vision went black around the edges. This had to be a nightmare. Nothing this awful could _actually_ be happening, could it? No, no of course not. Nightmare then. Or perhaps some psychopathic telepath had invaded his mind and was torturing him using some very original and very crude punishments. Because this? _This_ wasn't happening.

There, not two inches into the doorway, was Scott's white briefs haphazardly displayed on the carpet. Trailing his eyes just beyond that, he discovered yet more underpants (_I prefer da term underwear,_ his thoughts immediately recalled the Cajun's words) were lying for the world to see. As well as balls of socks. And t-shirts. And khakis (it's not like Scott ever wore jeans like a normal person). His clothes were freaking _everywhere_.

And that clearly was not bad enough. Oh, no, that was just the tip of the iceberg. The frosting on the cake? It was a doozy.

Remy was belting "Se - " that blasted song (that Scott had never heard before, of course) as loud as his lungs, diaphragm, and vocal chords would allow him to project. And he had the nerve - the very gall - to not only remove all of Scott's articles of clothing from their rightful homes nestled into the drawer, but also shove his _own_ stupid clothing inside instead!

Though in all likelihood the Cajun was well-aware of Scott's presence before he even got within ten feet of the door, the new-comer pretended not to realize he was no longer enjoying solitude. He happily continued singing for all he was worth while tossing Scott's thing carelessly behind him and cramming his own belongings in their former sanctuary.

"What - ?! What are you - ?!" Summers tried to splutter, but Remy's inflated volume made it impossible to hear his weak and confused protests.

"Holy Hannah, what are you doing?" He finally articulated, not nearly as forcefully as he would have liked.

Remy's head whipped his direction in a portrayal of shock that was so perfectly executed he should be a nominee for some form of dramatic award.

"Oh, hey Scottie. Didn't realize ya' were lurkin' 'round here," He greeted with his most charming smile, then resumed his "unpacking" without any hint of stopping or, heck, even _embarrassment_ at being caught.

"I'm not lur - " The leader wisely cut himself off, knowing his denying that he was "lurking" would only result in more frustration. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Makin' myself at home," Gambit shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And dumping my clothes to put in yours is fulfilling that plan?"

"How else did ya' expect me t' get comfy?"

"You can't just waltz in here and _do_ that!" Scott snapped agitatedly.

Remy quirked an eyebrow in bewilderment (no, seriously _someone give this man an award_) and inquired, "Do what?"

"What you're doing right now!" He shouted, the vein beginning to take life of its own already, having been dormant mere moments ago.

"...Makin' myself at home?" He offered slowly, as if trying to determine if the query was a trick question or not.

"ARGH!" Scott yelled, throwing his hands up in the air and immediately stalking away before he kill_ - maimed_ - that idiot now living in his room.

Remy waited until the Boy Scout was well out of the premises before allowing a simply devilish grin to overtake his features. _Hmm, maybe rooming with ol' One Eye won't be so bad after all..._

He thought wickedly to himself, deciding not to complete his current task and instead tossed the rest of his [very few, mind you] belongings anywhere that looked too bare.

_Guess I oughtta' make sure my attractiveness it as its full potential now. I do have a 'tour' with my little Roguey next, after all._

* * *

This chapter was about as far from what I expected it to be initially, but I hope you folks enjoyed it anyway! As promised, you are [sadly] spared of an impromptu poem:/ (I feel so empty without one)

If you see any grammatical/spelling errors, feel free to let me know so I can fix them as soon as possible!

Reviews/favorites/follows all greatly appreciated! See you in two weeks:)


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